pablo neruda, Residencia en la Tierra (lodgewars)
A world marches to the place where you were going, sister.
The songs of your mouth advance each day
in the mouths of the glorious people that you loved.
Your heart was brave.
In the old kitchens of your country, on the dusty
roads, something is said and passes on,
something returns to the flame of your golden people,
something awakes and sings.
They are your people, sister: those who today speak your name,
we who from everywhere, from the water and the land,
with your name leave unspoken and speak other names.
Because fire does not die.