Cento: "Nostalgic nights"

While the blue night drops on the world,
I wait for it and it envelopes me.
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
I remember you with my soul clenched.
Then the little drops of anguish all run together.


I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Everything carries me to you.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
Perhaps not to be is to be without your being
to be, and be nothing but light in the dark.

And I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
When the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

(Compilation collage of Pablo Neruda's work)