I like it when you’re quiet, It’s as is you weren’t here now,
and you heard me froma distance, and my voice couldn’t reach you.
It’s as if your eyes had flown away from you, and as if
your mouth were closed because I leaned to kiss you.
Just as all living things are filled with my soul,
you emerge from all living things filled with the soul of me.
It’s as if, a butterfly in dreams, you were my soul,
and as if you were the soul’s word, melancholy.
I like it when you are quiet. It’s as if you’d gone away now.
And you’d become the keening, the butterfly’s insistence.
And you heard me from a distance and my voice didn’t reach you:
it’s then that what I want is to be quiet with your silence.
It’s then that what I want is to speak to your silence
in a speech as clear as lamplight, as plain as a gold ring.
You are quiet like the night, and like the night you’re star-lit.
Your silences are star-like, they’re a distant and a simple thing.
I like it when you’re quiet. It’s as if you weren’t here now.
As if you were dead now, and sorrowful, and distant.
A word then is sufficient, or a smile, to make me happy,
Happy that it seems so certain that you’re present.
~Pablo Neruda
