12. THE LOVE Pablo Neruda With your gifts, you gave me strong love. The tenderness that I hoped came and attached to me carrrying the deepest kiss to my mouth. Neither couldnt separate from me the storms or the distances that gathered earth to the space of love that we conquered. When before the fire, among the crops of Spain your dress appeared, I was a double nation, doubled light, and the bitterness slipped on your face untill it fell on lost stones. By a great pain, of bristling spears disgorged into your waters, my love, like a horse that gallops in the middle of the anger and death, and suddenly receives a morning apple, a wild trembling cascade. Since then, love, they knew you the moors that created my behavior, the dark ocean that follows me and the chestnuts of the immense Autumn. Who didnt see you, beloved, my sweet, in the fight, on my side, like an appearance, with all the marks of the star? Who, if walked among the multitudes to find me, because I am a grain of human barn, didnt meet you, cramped to my roots, praised by the singing of my blood? I dont know, my love, if Ill have time and a site describing again your fine shadow outstretched over my pages, wife: these days are hard and bright, and we gather their sweetness mixed with eyelids and thorns. I dont know anymore when you start: you used to be before love, you used to came with all the destinys cores and before you, the loneliness was yours, perhaps it was your dormant hair. Today, cup of my love, I hardly name you, title of my days, the worshiped you, and in the space you occupy as the day all the light that universe holds. 12. DASHURIA Pablo Neruda Dashuri te forte, me dhe me cka me dhurove. Me solli embelsine qe shpresoja dhe mbartur prej meje puthjen me te thelle dergoi ne gojen time. Nuk munden te ndanin prej meje as stuhite as largesite qe bashkuan token per hapsiren e dashurise qe ne pushtuam. Kur para zjarrit, mes te korrave te Spanjes petku yt u shfaq une isha dykombsh, drite e dyzuar, dhe hidherimi nga fytyra jote rreshqiti te binte mbi ca gure te humbur. Se nje dhimbje madhe, heshtash gjembace u derdh ne ujrat e tua, dashuria ime, si nje kale qe me trokth vrapon midis zemerimit dhe vdekjes, dhe papritur nje molle per mengjez i jepet te haje, nje ujvare me dridhje te egersuar. Qe atehere, dashuri, ty te njohen lagunat qe sjelljen time krijuan oceanin e zymte qe pas me ndjek dhe geshtenjat e Vjeshtes se pafund. Kush nuk te pa, e dashuruar, e embla ime, ne lufte, prane meje, si nje vegim, me gjithe shenjat e nje ylli? Kush qe ai qe shkoi mes turmave per te me kerkuar, se koker gruri jam ne hambarin e grurit, e nuk te gjeti, ngjeshur ne rrenjet e mia, lartesuar ne kengen e gjakut tim? Nuk e di, e dashur, nese do kem kohe e vend te pershkruaj perseri hijen tende te brishte tejshtrire mbi faqet e mija, gruaja ime: te ashpra keto dite jane e plot drite, dhe ne prej tyre mbledhim embelsine perzjere me gjemba e qepalla. Tashme nuk e mbaj mend se kur ti fillon: ti vije para dashurise, ti vije me gjithe thelbet e fatit, dhe para teje, vetmia tendja ish, ndoshta qe flokesia jote e pergjumur. Sot, kupe e dashurise sime, sapo te caktoj, titull i diteve te mija, e adhuruara, dhe ne hapesiren qe ti ze si dita drita e tere qe mban gjithesia.
Posted on: Sun, 27 Apr 2014 12:23:16 +0000
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