Certain dark things

So much fluffy, pink, flowery stuff around today. 

I shan’t add to it. But neither shall I bang on and complain about it – nobody likes a killjoy..!

However… I prefer a little darker, less sickly – and perhaps thus more truthful – take on love, myself. 

Like this one:

I Do Not Love You (Pablo Neruda)

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 shadow and the 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 you 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.


3 Replies to “Certain dark things”

  1. Isn't it just?I wish I'd written it.("between the shadow and the soul" would be a great title for a novel…)[edited as I heard the ghostly voice of my old English mistress]

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