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            Take bread away from me, if you wish,
            take air away, but
            do not take from me your laughter.

            Do not take away the rose,
            the lance flower that you pluck,
            the water that suddenly
            bursts forth in joy,
            the sudden wave
            of silver born in you.

            My struggle is harsh and I come back
            with eyes tired
            at times from having seen
            the unchanging earth,
            but when your laughter enters
            it rises to the sky seeking me
            and it opens for me all
            the doors of life.

            My love, in the darkest
            hour your laughter
            opens, and if suddenly
            you see my blood staining
            the stones of the street,
            laugh, because your laughter
            will be for my hands
            like a fresh sword.

            Next to the sea in the autumn,
            your laughter must raise
            its foamy cascade,
            and in the spring, love,
            I want your laughter like
            the flower I was waiting for,
            the blue flower, the rose
            of my echoing country.

            Laugh at the night,
            at the day, at the moon,
            laugh at the twisted
            streets of the island,
            laugh at this clumsy
            boy who loves you,
            but when I open
            my eyes and close them,
            when my steps go,
            when my steps return,
            deny me bread, air,
            light, spring,
            but never your laughter
            for I would die. 
            
            
            Pablo Neruda