This salt <br />in the salt cellar <br />I once saw in the salt mines. <br />I know <br />you won't <br />believe me <br />but <br />it sings <br />salt sings, the skin <br />of the salt mines <br />sings <br />with a mouth smothered <br />by the earth. <br />I shivered in those <br />solitudes <br />when I heard <br />the voice <br />of <br />the salt <br />in the desert. <br />Near Antofagasta <br />the nitrous <br />pampa <br />resounds: <br />a <br />broken <br />voice, <br />a mournful <br />song. <br /> <br />In its caves <br />the salt moans, mountain <br />of buried light, <br />translucent cathedral, <br />crystal of the sea, oblivion <br />of the waves. <br />And then on every table <br />in the world, <br />salt, <br />we see your piquant <br />powder <br />sprinkling <br />vital light <br />upon <br />our food. <br />Preserver <br />of the ancient <br />holds of ships, <br />discoverer <br />on <br />the high seas, <br />earliest <br />sailor <br />of the unknown, shifting <br />byways of the foam. <br />Dust of the sea, in you <br />the tongue receives a kiss <br />from ocean night: <br />taste imparts to every seasoned <br />dish your ocean essence; <br />the smallest, <br />miniature <br />wave from the saltcellar <br />reveals to us <br />more than domestic whiteness; <br />in it, we taste infinitude.<br /><br />Pablo Neruda<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-to-salt/
