Featured Poem: Today

By Pablo Neruda


Today, how many hours are falling

into the well, into the net, into time:

they go slowly but never stopped to rest,

they keep on falling, swarming together

at first like fish,

then like falling bottles or stones.

There below the hours come

to agree with the days,

with the months,

with blurred memories,

with uninhabited nights,

clothes, women, trains, provinces,

and time collects,

hour upon hour

dissolves in silence,

crumbles and falls

into the acid of all ruins,

into the black water

of the inverted night.

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