I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadows and soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

قصائد حب ليس إلا ، الجميل أنها عذبة جدا ، تتحدث فيها الروح أكثر من جنسيات الشعراء الآخرين ، نيرودا الروح هو من يكتب ، ليس من أجل ماتيلدا فقط ، بل كي يعلّم جميع العشاق كيف يحبّون ، ربما كل عاشق ٍ سيجد فيه ما يسرقه ليرسله إلى حبيبته ، أو يتلوه على مسامعها !


مائة سوناتة حب ، لمائة عام حب !

It was my first attempt to read a book in Spanish (a language I am not the best at). My attempt was not very successful as poetry is hard to understand even in the native language. I will continue with easier books in the future.