sorry about the lack of posts recently. This is just a short one. I just wanted to share a surrealist poem by Pablo Neruda I read in a logic class. The thing about surrealism is that it doesn't make sense in a cerebral way, but it resonates with something unidentifiable inside you. In many classes I've taken, it seems that emotions and the heart have a strong influence on our decisions than our mind does, and surrealism recognizes that.

Neruda is a Chilean poet, so this is a translation I especially liked.

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.


ab imo pectore,


Hannah