Children blackened by explosions,
red fragments of brain, corridors filled
with gentle intestines, they all await you, all
in the very posture of crossing the street,
of kicking the ball, of swallowing a fruit, of smiling,
or being born.

Smiling. There are smiles
now demolished by blood
that wait
with scattered exterminated teeth
and masks of muddled matter, hollow faces
perpetual gunpowder, and the nameless
the dark
hidden ones, those who never left
their beds
of rubble. They all wait for you
to spend the night.

They fill the corridors
like decayed seaweed.
They are ours, they were our

flesh, our health, our bustling peace,
our ocean
of air and lungs.
them the dry earth flowered.

Now, beyond the earth, 

turned into destroyed 
substance, murdered
matter, dead flour,
they await you in your hell.

Since acute terror or sorrow waste away,

neither terror nor sorrow awaits you.
May you be alone and accursed,
alone and awake
among all the dead,
and let blood fall upon you like rain,

and let a dying river of severed eyes
slide and flow over you staring at you

Pablo Neruda
translated by Richard Schaaf

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