Pablo Neruda -Oda a unas flores amarillas-

Oda a unas flores amarillas

Contra el azul moviendo sus azules,
el mar, y contra el cielo,
unas flores amarillas.

Octubre llega.

Y aunque sea
tan importante el mar desarrollando
su mito, su mision, su levadura,
estalla
sobre la arena el oro
de una sola
planta amarilla
y se amarran
tus ojos
a la tierra,
huyen del magno mar y sus latidos.

Polvo somos, seremos.
Ni aire, ni fuego, ni agua
sino tierra,
solo tierra
seremos
y talvez
unas flores amarillas.


Ode to some yellow flowers

Rolling its blues against another blue,
the sea, and against the sky
some yellow flowers.

October is on its way.

And although
the sea may well be important,
with its unfolding myths,
its purpose and its risings,
when the gold
of a single yellow plant
explodes
in the sand
your eyes are bound
to the soil.
They flee the wide sea and its heavings.

We are dust and to dust return.
In the end we're neither air, nor fire, nor water,
just dirt, neither more nor less,
just dirt,
and maybe some yellow flowers.