Adm, ILA MAGAZINE Net
HORSES
By Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)
From the window I saw the horses.
I was in Berlin, in winter. The light
had no light,
the sky had no heaven.
The air was white like wet bread.
And from my window,
a vacant arena,
bitten by the teeth of winter.
Suddenly, driven out by a man,
ten horses surged from the mist.
Like waves of fire,
they flared forward
and to my eyes,
filled the whole world,
empty till then. Perfect,
ablaze, they were like ten gods,
with pure white hoofs,
with manes like a dream
of salt.
Their rumps were worlds
and oranges.
Their color was honey,
amber, fire.
Their necks were towers
cut from the stone of pride,
and behind their transparent
eyes,
energy raged,
like a prisoner.
There, in silence,
at mid-day, in that dirty,
disordered winter,
those intense horses
were the blood, the rhythm,
the inciting treasure of life.
I looked.
I looked and was reborn:
for there, unknowing,
was the fountain,
the dance of gold,
and the fire that lives
in beauty.
I have forgotten that dark,
Berlin winter.
I will not forget
the light of the horses.
(Image found on Pinterest)
"The mystifying metaphor of time, ominous illusion, powerful imagery beyond description, the words beyond compelling - all these spoken by an exceptional brilliant mind in Pablo Neruda. I'm drawn to his world of thinking, I want to sink in his soul, to find him, to search for his meaning, to touch his crystal ball... I am deeply curious to what had really happened and how it happened... The "forebodings.... but glitters" of truth."
~Leah C. Dancel, December 2, 2021
