There is a single message saved in my inbox, a treasure from one of my favorite poets. In it, he writes: “Throughout the earth let dead lips congregate, out of the depths spin this long night to me as if I rode at anchor here with you…” — Pablo Neruda, Canto XII from The Heights of Macchu Picchu.

These words, nestled within the confines of my inbox, echo a timeless resonance. They carry the weight of ages, bridging the chasm between the past and the present. Neruda’s voice, immortalized in ink, reaches out across the expanse of time and space, anchoring me in a profound connection.

As I read his lines, I am transported to a realm where the dead lips of history congregate, where the night’s darkness spins around us, enveloping us in a shared solitude. It is as if I stand at the edge of eternity, tethered to his words, feeling the ancient rhythms of the earth pulse through my veins.

In this moment, I am not alone. I am accompanied by the whispers of the past, the souls who have wandered before me, and the poet who captured their essence so vividly. This message, saved and cherished, is a beacon of timeless beauty and profound reflection, a reminder that through art, we are eternally connected. ❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer