Pablo Neruda builds his ship on Chile's rocky shore on Isla Negra Pablo sails the world from his window on the sea on Isla Negra
Before the sea he writes soul stirring poems inspired by the power of his lover's smile the magic of her laughter the splendor and brutality of man's frailty the betrayal of hope for a better world
Pablo washes his hands before he holds his pen a priestly ablution before the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving the word made flesh to feed the mind and soul of those who hunger after truth
Pablo scatters dictators and tyrants with the stroke of his pen and green ink
Pablo collects seashells, mermaids, masks classic books, painted glass and fine wine He is a bon vivant until his dream of a free and just society is killed by Kissinger and the C.I.A.
Pablo has passed on to the other side of betrayal and brutality
Now I kneel at his tomb overlooking the sea and pray to the broken hearted whose passionate poems blossom on blood stained streets of blighted steamy barrios, feed the soul of Victor Jara and Violeta Para poets and martyrs sleeping in eternal city cemeteries of Santiago and Buenos Aires
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