Ode to the Storm

Last night

she

came,

livid,

night-blue,

wine-red:

the tempest

with her

hair of water,

eyes of cold fire-

last night she wanted

to sleep on earth.

She came all of a sudden

newly unleashed

out of her furious planet,

her cavern in the sky;

she longed for sleep

and made her bed:

sweeping jungles and highways,

sweeping mountains,

washing ocean stones,

and then

as if they were feathers,

ravaging pine trees

to make her bed.

She took the lightning

from her quiver of fire,

dropped thunderclaps

like great barrels.

All of a sudden

there was a silence:

a single leaf

gliding on air

like a flying violin-

then,

before

it touched the earth,

you took it

in your hands, great storm,

put all your winds to work

blowing their horns,

set the whole night

galloping with its horses,

all the ice whistling,

the wild

trees

groaning in misery

like prisoners,

the earth

moaning, a woman

giving birth,

in a single blow

you blotted out

the noise of grass

or stars,

tore

the numbed silence

like a handkerchief-

the world filled

with sound, fury and fire,

and when the lightning flashes

fell like hair

from your shining forehead,

fell like swords

from your warrior's belt

and when we were about to think

that the world was ending,

then,

rain,

rain,

only

rain,

all earth, all

sky,

at rest,

the night

fell, bleeding to death

on human sleep,

nothing but rain,

water

of time and sky:

nothing had fallen

except a broken branch,

an empty nest.

With your musical

fingers,

with your hell-roar,

your fire

of volcanoes at night,

you played

at lifting a leaf,

gave strength to rivers,

taught

men

to be men,

the weak to fear,

the tender to cry,

the windows

to rattle-

but

when

you prepared to destroy us, when

like a dagger

fury fell from the sky,

when all the light

and shadow trembled

and the pines devoured

themselves howling

on the edge of the midnight sea,

you, delicate storm,

my betrothed,

wild as you were,

did us no wrong:

but returned

to your star

and rain,

green rain,

rain full

of dreams and seeds,

mother

of harvests

rain,

world-washing rain,

draining it,

making it new,

rain for us men

and for the seeds,

rain

for the forgetting

of the dead

and for

tomorrow's bread-

only the rain

you left behind,

water and music,

for this,

I love you

storm,

reckon with me,

come back,

wake me up,

illuminate me,

show me your path

so that the chosen voice,

the stormy voice of man

may join and sing your song with you.

--Pablo Neruda - 1954