keeping quiet
pablo neruda

now we wil count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

for once on the face of the earth
let's not speak in any language,
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

it would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

fisherman in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.

those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

what i want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
life is what it is about;
i want no truck with death.

if we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.

perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

now i'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and i will go.

- from Extravagaria, translated by alastair reid


There are so many things going through my head right now about this. Things on the sound of silence. Things on the silence of sounds. They keep buzzing around the periphery of thoughts. That they actually contradict the essence of the poem.

I had been thinking of writing some sensible stuff about this on the way home. But I guess I am not in the mood right now.

Deafening silence. The stillness of everything but one's self. Drowning in the noise of one's thoughts.

Some people are afraid of silence. Of being silent.
For in that split second of clarity come the realizations we dread meeting.
In that singular moment of peace, the truth stings so much we do not have enough time to feel the pain.

------

Everyone makes me smile. Some when they come, others when they leave. (sa isang hardware store)

Nakakafrustrate. Hindi ko mahanap yung ring. Tsk. Namaaan.