Horses

By Pablo Neruda

From the window I saw the horses.

I was in Berlin, in winter. The light

had no light, the sky had no heaven.

The air was white like wet bread.

And from my window a vacant arena,

bitten by the teeth of winter.

Suddenly driven out by a man,

ten horses surged through the mist.

Like waves of fire, they flared forward

and to my eyes filled the whole world,

empty till then. Perfect, ablaze,

they were like ten gods with pure white hoofs,

with manes like a dream of salt.

Their rumps were worlds and oranges.

Their color was honey, amber, fire.

Their necks were towers

cut from the stone of pride,

and behind their transparent eyes

energy raged, like a prisoner.

There, in silence, at mid-day,

in that dirty, disordered winter,

those intense horses were the blood

the rhythm, the inciting treasure of life.

I looked. I looked and was reborn:

for there, unknowing, was the fountain,

the dance of gold, heaven

and the fire that lives in beauty.

I have forgotten that dark Berlin winter.

I will not forget the light of the horses.

Artist unknown