If I have died and don’t know it,
of whom do I ask the time?
Do tears not yet spilled,
wait in small lakes?
Or are they invisible rivers,
that run toward sadness?
Are they birds or fish,
in these nets of moonlight?
Was it where they lost me,
that I finally found myself?
Do you not weep surrounded by laughter,
with bottles of oblivion?
Where does the rainbow end,
in your soul or on the horizon?
of whom do I ask the time?
Do tears not yet spilled,
wait in small lakes?
Or are they invisible rivers,
that run toward sadness?
Are they birds or fish,
in these nets of moonlight?
Was it where they lost me,
that I finally found myself?
Do you not weep surrounded by laughter,
with bottles of oblivion?
Where does the rainbow end,
in your soul or on the horizon?
The Book of Questions, Pablo Naruda (via justjos)
I Am Simply_Dreaming,