Sajak Pablo Neruda
Pagi yang penuh dengan badai ganas
di hati yang kini musim panas.
Awan mengembara bagai sapu tangan putih perpisahan,
angin, bepergian, melambaikannya di segenap tangan.
Hati angin yang tak terbilang ada
berdebaran pada kebisuan cinta kita.
Seperti takdir dan orkestra, bersuara di antara pepohonan
seperti bahasa yang disesaki perang dan tembang.
Sehembus lekas angin membawa dedaunan mati
menangkis anak panah beruntuntun burung-burung.
Seombak angin menghembusnya telanjang dada
tanpa percik, ringan tapi ada, seperti api.
Kecupan-kecupannya pecah dan lalu tenggelam,
Menyerbu memburu ke pintu angin musim panas.
The Morning is Full
The morning is full of storm
in the heart of summer.
The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye,
the wind, travelling, waving them in its hands.
The numberless heart of the wind
beating above our loving silence.
Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees
like a language full of wars and songs.
Wind that bears off the dead leaves with a quick raid
and deflects the pulsing arrows of the birds.
Wind that topples her in a wave without spray
and substance without weight, and leaning fires.
Her mass of kisses breaks and sinks,
assailed in the door of the summer's wind.
