i have found one of the saddest poems....

tonight i can write
pablo neruda

tonight i can write the saddest lines.

write, for example, 'the night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

the night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

tonight i can write the saddest lines.
i loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

through nights like this one i held her in my arms.
i kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

she loved me, sometimes i loved her too.
how could one not have loved her great still eyes.

tonight i can write the saddest lines.
to think that i do not have her. to feel that i have lost her.

to hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
and the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

what does it matter that my love could not keep her.
the night is starry and she is not with me.

this is all. in the distance someone is singing. in the distance.
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

my sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
my heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

the same night, whitening the same trees.
we, of that time, are no longer the same.

i no longer love her, that's certain, but how i loved her.
my voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

another's. she will be another's. as she was before my kisses.
her voice, her bright body. her infinite eyes.

i no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe i love her.
love is so short, forgetting is so long.

because through nights like this one i held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

though this be the last pain she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that i write for her.

great poem... but allow me to digress. my biological clock has gone haywire. somehow, i awfully need to correct it.

it's a cycle, really: i go into half-asleep mode from early six to nine, i doze off a few hours more, i really wake up around twelve noon, i do my things, i get my siesta, i do the greater half of my things, i do my solitary couch potato-ing at ten in the evening until twelve thirty in the morn hits, i surf the net from one till three in the morning... then it all begins again when i walk halfway out of dreamland to jive with the radio at six in the morning.

ladies and gentlemen, this is the life of a professional slacker. if more people have the same schedule i have, the society and the world as we know it is absolutely towards self-abomination.

it's a damn wonderful world.