forever poems: HOUSE Poem by Pablo Neruda (…’and stone I was, stone shall be, and for this caress this stone which has not died for me’…)

House Poem by Pablo Neruda

Perhaps this is the house in which I lived
when neither I, nor earth, existed,
 when everything was moon, or stone, or shadow,
 with the still light unborn.
This stone could then have been
 my house, my windows, or my eyes.
This granite rose recalls
 something that lived in me, or I in it,
a cave, a universe of dreams inside the skull:
 cup or castle, boat or birth.
I touch the rock’s tenacious thrust,
its bulwark pounded in the brine
and I know that flaws of mine subsisted here,
wrinkled substances that surfaced
from the depths into my soul,
and stone I was, stone shall be, and for this
caress this stone which has not died for me:
it’s what I was, and shall be – the tranquility
of struggle stretched beyond the brink of time.

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