Here is a beautiful, translated poem from the Chilean Nobel Prize Winner, Pablo Neruda. Fascists murdered Neruda but they couldn’t kill either his words or his legacy. The verse of Pablo will live on long after Pinochet is a sick footnote in Chilean history.
Lost In The Forest
Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind
as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood—
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.