emmajane16.1775
Sonnet lXXV one hundred sonnets of love (1959) in the afternoon
This is the house, the sea and the flag.
We were wandering along other long walls.
We couldn't find the door or the sound
from the absence, as from the dead.
And finally the house opens its silence,
we enter to step on the abandonment,
the dead rats, the empty goodbye,
the water that cried in the pipes.
The house cried night and day,
she moaned with the spiders, ajar,
she spilled from her black eyes,
and now suddenly we make her alive,
we populate it and it does not recognize us:
It has to bloom, and it doesn't remember.
by Pablo Neruda
Village de Roqueblanche, by Albane (155, 100, 22) - Moderado
Sonnet lXXV one hundred sonnets of love (1959) in the afternoon
This is the house, the sea and the flag.
We were wandering along other long walls.
We couldn't find the door or the sound
from the absence, as from the dead.
And finally the house opens its silence,
we enter to step on the abandonment,
the dead rats, the empty goodbye,
the water that cried in the pipes.
The house cried night and day,
she moaned with the spiders, ajar,
she spilled from her black eyes,
and now suddenly we make her alive,
we populate it and it does not recognize us:
It has to bloom, and it doesn't remember.
by Pablo Neruda
Village de Roqueblanche, by Albane (155, 100, 22) - Moderado