from The Book of Questions
Why don't the immense airplanes
fly around with their children?
Which yellow bird
fills its nest with lemons?
Why don't they train helicopters
to suck honey from the sunlight?
Where did the full moon leave
its sack of flour tonight?
Is it true that voluptuous crocodiles
live only in Australia?
How do the oranges divide up
sunlight in the orange tree?
Did salt's teeth come
from a bitter mouth?
Is it true that a black condor
flies at night over my country?
Whom can I ask what I came
to make happen in this world?
Why do I move without wanting to,
why am I not able to sit still?
Why do I go rolling without wheels,
flying without wings or feathers,
and why did I decide to migrate
if my bones live in Chile?
And why is the sun such a bad companion
to the traveler's in the desert?
And why is the sun so congenial
in the hospital garden?
Are they birds or fish
in these nets of moonlight?
Was it where they lost me
that I finally found myself?
Why was I not born mysterious?
Why did I grow up without companions?
Who ordered me to tear down
the doors of my own pride?
And who went out to live for me
when I was sleeping or sick?
And which flag unfurled there
where they didn't forget me?
Can you love me, syllabary,
and give me a meaningful kiss?
Is a dictionary a sepulchre
or a sealed honeycomb?
In which window did I remain
watching buried time?
Or is what I see from afar
what I have not yet lived?
_________________________
Pablo Neruda
The Book of Questions
translated by William O'Daly
Copper Canyon Press, 2001
