"Ode a la tormenta"

Por Pablo Neruda

 

Anoche

vino

ella,

rabiosa,

azul, color de noche

roja, color de vino,

la tempestad

trajo

su cabellera de agua,

ojos de frío

anoche quiso

dormir sobre la tierra.

Llegó pronto

queriá dormir

y preparó su cama,

barrio selvas caminos,

barrio montes,

lavó piedras de océano

y entonces

como si fueran plumas

removió los pinares

para hacerse su cama.

Sacó relámpagos

de su  saco de fuego,

dejó caer truenos

como grandes barriles.

De pronto

fue silencio:

una hoja

iba sola en el aire,

como un violín volante,

entonces

antes

de que llegara al suelo,

tempestad, en tus manos

la tomaste . . .

y cuando ya creíamos

que terminaba el mundo

entonces,

lluvia,

lluvia,

sólo

lluvia . . .

"Ode to the Storm"

by Pablo Neruda

 

Last night

she

came,

furious,

blue, the color of night,

red, the color of wine,

the storm

brought

her hair filled with water,

eyes of cold fire,

last night

she wanted to sleep upon the earth.

She arrived quickly

she wanted to sleep

and prepared her bed,

nearby jungle paths,

nearby mountains,

washed the ocean rocks,

and then

as if they were feathers

she stirred the pine trees

to make her bed.

She shook the lightning

from her quiver of fire,

thunderclaps dropped

like large barrels.

At once

there was silence:

a leaf

was floating alone in the air,

like a flying violin,

then,

before

it hit the ground,

storm in  your hands

you took it . . .

and when we were beginning to think

that the world was ending,

then,

rain,

rain,

only

rain . . .