Pablo Neruda- It Means Shadows. From Residence on Earth How silly to think about it, what pure omen, what a definitive kiss to bury in the heart, to yield in the origins of helplessness and intelligence, soft and safe upon the eternally troubled waters? What vital, rapid wings of a new angel of dreams to lay upon my sleeping shoulders for perpetual safety, in such a way that the road among the stars of death shall be a violent flight begun many days and months and centuries ago? Perhaps the natural weakness of suspicious and anxious beings suddenly seeks permanence in time and limits on earth, perhaps the tediums and the ages implacably accumulated extend like the lunar wave of an ocean newly created upon shores and lands grievously deserted. Ah, let what I am go on existing and ceasing to exist, and let my obedience be ordered with such iron conditions that the tremor of deaths and births will not trouble the deep place that I wish to keep for myself eternally. Let what I am, then, be, in some places and in every time, an established and assured and ardent witness, carefully destroying himself and preserving himself incessantly, clearly insistent upon his original duty.