Saya suka sekali puisi-puisinya Neruda. Selalu menahan nafas setiap kali membacanya. Saya suka puisi yang menarik-narik hati saya dalam kehampaan. Saya menyukai rasa sakit itu :p
Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among
Objects:
Nothing mattered or had a name:
The world was made of air, which waited.
I knew rooms full of ashes,
Tunnels where the moon lived,
Rough warehouses that growled 'get lost',
Questions that insisted in the sand.
Everything was empty, dead, mute,
Fallen abandoned, and decayed:
Inconceivably alien, it all
Belonged to someone else - to no one:
Till your beauty and your poverty
Filled the autumn plentiful with gifts.
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