Pablo Neruda builds his ship on Chile's rocky shore
on Isla Negra
Pablo sails the world from his window on the sea
on Isla Negra

Before the sea he writes soul stirring poems
inspired by the power of his lover's smile
the magic of her laughter
the splendor and brutality of man's frailty
the betrayal of hope for a better world

Pablo washes his hands before he holds his pen
a priestly ablution before the sacrifice
of praise and thanksgiving
the word made flesh
to feed the mind and soul
of those who hunger after truth

Pablo scatters dictators and tyrants
with the stroke of his pen and green ink

Pablo collects seashells, mermaids, masks
classic books, painted glass and fine wine
He is a bon vivant
until his dream of a free and just society
is killed by Kissinger and the C.I.A.

Pablo has passed on
to the other side
of betrayal and brutality

Now I kneel at his tomb
overlooking the sea
and pray to the broken hearted
whose passionate poems
blossom on blood stained streets
of blighted steamy barrios,
feed the soul of Victor Jara
and Violeta Para
poets and martyrs
sleeping in eternal city cemeteries
of Santiago and Buenos Aires

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