Authors:
  • The word
    was born in the blood,
    grew in the dark body, beating,
    and took flight through the lips and the mouth.
    Farther away and nearer
    still, still it came
    from dead fathers and from wondering races,
    from lands which had turned to stone,
    lands weary of their poor tribes,
    for when grief took to the roads
    the people set out and arrived
    and married new land and water
    to grow their words again.
    And so this is the inheritance;
    this is the wavelength which connects us
    with dead men and the dawning
    of new beings not yet come to light.

    Pablo Neruda, Ilan Stavans, Robert Bly (2007). “I explain a few things: selected poems”, Farrar Straus & Giroux