The Weary One

The weary one, orphan

of the masses, the self,

the crushed one, the one made of concrete,

the one without a country in crowded restaurants,

he who wanted to go far away, always farther away,

didnt know what to do there, whether he wanted

or didnt want to leave or remain on the island,

the hesitant one, the hybrid, entangled in himself,

had no place here: the straight-angled stone,

the infinite look of the granite prism,

the circular solitude all banished him:

he went somewhere else with his sorrows,

he returned to the agony of his native land,

to his indecisions, of winter and summer.

Pablo Neruda

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