Ode to some yellow flowers
Rolling its blues against another blue,
the sea, and against the sky
some yellow flowers.
October is on its way.
And although
the sea may well be important, with its unfolding
myths, its purpose and its risings,
when the gold of a single
yellow plant
explodes
in the sand
your eyes
are bound
to the soil.
They flee the wide sea and its heavings.
We are dust and to dust return.
In the end we’re
neither air, nor fire, nor water,
just
dirt.
neither more nor less, just dirt,
and maybe
some yellow flowers.
[Neruda, Odes to common things; New York: Bulfinch Press, 1994, p. 57]
Neither more nor less than dirt – an Ash Wednesday sentiment. It’s true, too, in its own way. We are no more nor are we any less than ashes and dirt. Except we are also God’s beloved. Neruda never states that, at least not explicitly. Still, there are the yellow flowers. Perhaps, just perhaps, they are a glimpse of divine love.
