Pablo Neruda:
‘Don’t be vain’ someone had scrawled
on my wall
I don’t recognize
the script or hand of
whoever left that line
in the kitchen. No one I invited, clearly.
He came in from the roof.
So who am I
supposed to answer? The wind.
Listen to me, wind.
For many years,
the vainest
have tossed in my face
their own empty vanities,
that is, they show me the door
I open at night, the book
I write,
the bed
that waits to receive me,
the house I build,
that is, that is, maliciously
they make signs with their fingers
entwined,
their viny fingers,
and all their self-love
they dump in my face,
they call me the things they are,
they bark at me their secrets.
…..
