Returning (Pablo Neruda)

So many profiles of death line my face

That I cannot die

I am not capable of it

They seek me out but can't find me

And I leave with what is mine

With my poor destiny

On horseback, lost

in solitary pastures

far south of South America:
a fiery wind blows in

the trees are bent low

from as soon as they are born:

they must kiss the earth

the smooth plain

then later comes the snow

made of a thousand words

that never ends.

I have returned

from where I will go

from tomorrow, Friday

I came back

with all of my bells

and I stood waiting

searching for the meadow

kissing bitter earth

like a bent-over shrub.

Because it is our duty

to obey the winter

to let the wind grow

inside of you also

until the snow falls

until this day and every day are as one

the wind and the past

the cold falls in

finally we are alone

and finally we are silent.

Thank you.