Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

-Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII

Belief, believe

I had been told, if I believe, things will turn out fine.
I thought fortune has changed for the better, but it turned out, dreams only last for a night.
Like Arabella in The Female Quixote, one has to return to reality, conformity, and lack of individuality.
How shameless art thou, when you had leave, as if in glory, and return, folgen behind your owner.
I won't describe you as a dog, like what your people have described us as, for you aren't worth that name.
Dogs are wonderful creatures, loyal and kind. You aren't worthy of that name.
Are we not too desperate sometimes, to the extent of having to tolerate and pretend to accept you people in the screen of so called progress?

Are we progressing, as a human race? Are we better off than in the past?

Or are we degrading...? Deprived of our morals? Deprived of our self-awareness, creativity and that human-ness?

I still believe that I should believe in you and that things will turn out fine. Perhaps too many people are praying and talking to you at the same time, that's why you have not yet heard my prayers. I'm sorry that I always come to you for things, but I will try my best to keep you in mind everyday.