Pardon me, if when I want
to tell the story of my life
it's the land I talk about.
This is the land.
It grows in your blood
and you grow.
If it dies in your blood
you die out.
-Pablo Neruda (translation by William O'Daly)
This poem caught me off guard, but I liked it, though I know I have not the relationship with my land, country and people that Neruda had with his. Then again, perhaps I am not viewing it with the proper lens. Old glasses may be familiar, but they don't always improve your vision appreciatively.
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