Today we left paradise. But I shall not write of the boring plane ride, or how I dreaded going back to “Reality.” No. Instead I shall write of Paradise one last time… And it is with an indistinct sadness or nostalgia, but more appreciation that I say “Farewell, my homeland.” Goodbye my paradise. Of you, we take a piece with us. A piece of your romance inspiring sunsets, of your furious rain storms, of the deep thunder that shook our lovers’ hut when your heavens spoke. Thanks for the memories. I leave you now, with a heart as heavy as your sudden sea winds. On your soft carpet made of wild green moss we ran like children, laughing, chasing each other, hiding behind the palm trees that stood like sleeping towers. Hand in hand, she and I walked your white sands, losing our bare feet in the foam of your endless waves. How can we forget? How can we not remember the straw hut where we, man and woman, laid entwined like roots, linking our bodies and souls.
Thanks for the memories, oh Little Corn Island. May your people prosper. May your sands, your bodies of translucent water, your delicate huts keep the hearts of lovers aflame and the Marriott at bay. May your beauty remain a secret, like the hidden caverns of your seas, and only found by those seeking the honey of your moon… and may you still remain a virgin paradise…
And so I close this chapter of this small island, whose moon nourished us with honey and the type of feverish love newlyweds endure. I leave with this poem written by the poets of poets, Pablo Neruda (English translation at bottom):
La noche en la isla
Toda la noche he dormido contigo
junto al mar, en la isla.
Salvaje y dulce eras entre el placer y el sueño,
entre el fuego y el agua.
Tal vez muy tarde
nuestros sueños se unieron
en lo alto o en el fondo,
arriba como ramas que un mismo viento mueve,
abajo como rojas raíces que se tocan.
Tal vez tu sueño
se separó del mío
y por el mar oscuro
me buscaba
como antes
cuando aún no existías,
cuando sin divisarte
navegué por tu lado,
y tus ojos buscaban
lo que ahora
pan, vino, amor y cólera
te doy a manos llenas
porque tú eres la copa
que esperaba los dones de mi vida.
He dormido contigo
toda la noche mientras
la oscura tierra gira
con vivos y con muertos,
y al despertar de pronto
en medio de la sombra
mi brazo rodeaba tu cintura.
Ni la noche, ni el sueño
pudieron separarnos.
He dormido contigo
y al despertar tu boca
salida de tu sueño
me dio el sabor de tierra,
de agua marina, de algas,
del fondo de tu vida,
y recibí tu beso
mojado por la aurora
como si me llegara
del mar que nos rodea.
The Night on the Island
All night I have slept with you
next to the sea, on the island.
Wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep,
between fire and water.
Perhaps very late
our dreams joined
at the top or at the bottom,
Up above like branches moved by a common wind,
down below like red roots that touch.
Perhaps your dream
drifted from mine
and through the dark sea
was seeking me
as before,
when you did not yet exist,
when without sighting you
I sailed by your side,
and your eyes sought
what now-
bread, wine, love, and anger-
I heap upon you
because you are the cup
that was waiting for the gifts of my life.
I have slept with you
all night long while
the dark earth spins
with the living and the dead,
and on waking suddenly
in the midst of the shadow
my arm encircled your waist.
Neither night nor sleep
could separate us.
I have slept with you
and on waking, your mouth,
come from your dream,
gave me the taste of earth,
of sea water, of seaweed,
of the depths of your life,
and I received your kiss
moistened by the dawn
as if it came to me
from the sea that surrounds us.
