Heartbreak poems in Spanish that you should know

When love opens the doors of our heart, there is a risk: the door remains open for love to leave again, and it can happen that the inner house is once again empty, abandoned. The house is then inhabited by memories, regrets, perhaps some guilt... phantasmagorias.

Giving words to these phantasmagorias, giving them a voice, is the way to honor the memory, and to pay off one's own debt, making that which empties the space, becomes an occasion of beauty that lives. That's what poets do when they write about heartbreak. In this article, we will find a series of Spanish-American poems that sing about heartbreak.

Love seeks tranquility in vain, by Francisco de Quevedo

Francisco de Quevedo, writer of the Spanish Golden Age, reviews the dramas of love that finds no peace. Unrequited love becomes a sentence that pushes him into the abyss, with no way to resist it. Quevedo presents to those who love, then, the image that best explains our crying: "I begin to follow her, I am lacking courage, / and as I want to reach her, / I make the crying run after her in rivers."

I give hugs to fugitive shadows,
in his dreams my soul gets tired;
I spend fighting alone night and day
with a goblin that I carry in my arms.

When I want to tie him more with ties,
and seeing my sweat it deflects me,
I return with new strength to my stubbornness,
and themes with love tear me to pieces.

I'm going to avenge myself in a vain image,
that he does not leave my eyes;
Make fun of me, and from making fun of me, run proudly.

I start to follow her, I am lacking energy,
and how to reach it I want,
I make the tears run after her in rivers.

Absence, Jorge Luis Borges

Argentine Jorge Luis Borges perceives the absence of the loved one. The absence is represented encompassing, suffocating, terrible. Absence burns like skin burns after being exposed to a dazzling sun. There will be no more relief than time can give.

I will raise the vast life
that even now is your mirror:
every morning I will have to rebuild it.
Since you walked away
how many places have become vain
and meaningless, equal
to lights in the day.
Afternoons that were niche of your image,
music in which you always waited for me,
words of that time,
I will have to break them with my hands.
In what hollow will I hide my soul
so I don't see your absence
that like a terrible sun, without setting,
shines definitive and ruthless?
Your absence surrounds me
like the rope to the throat,
the sea to which it sinks.

You, who will never be, by Alfonsina Storni

The woman loves in the midst of the awareness of her loneliness. Love reveals itself to him intense but elusive, an absent presence, a mirage.

Saturday was, and caprice the kiss given,
whim of a man, bold and fine,
but the masculine whim was sweet
to this my heart, winged wolf cub.

It is not that she believes, I do not believe, if inclined
on my hands I felt you divine,
and I got drunk. I understand that this wine
It is not for me, but play and roll the dice.

I am that woman who lives alert,
you the tremendous man who wakes up
in a torrent that widens into a river,

and more frizz while running and pruning.
Ah, I resist, the more it has me all,
You who will never be completely mine

Rosario, by José Martí

The loved one has a name: Rosario. The lover searches, desperate, walks, walks, and perceives the nonsense of his adventure.

rosary beads
rosary beads,
I was thinking of you, of your hair
That the shadow world would envy,
And I put a point of my life in them
And I wanted to dream that you were mine.

I walk the earth with my eyes,
Raised, oh my eagerness, to such a height
That in haughty anger or miserable blushes
The human creature lit them.

Live: Know how to die; that's how it afflicts me
This unfortunate search, this fierce good,
And all the Being in my soul is reflected,
And searching without faith, I die of faith!

Poem XX, by Pablo Neruda

This poem by Pablo Neruda is included in the book 20 love poems and a desperate song. With this text the selection of poems ends, in which he has reviewed the face of love. The last face only offers you sadness.

I can write the saddest verses tonight.
Write, for example: “The night is starry,
and the stars shiver in the distance, blue. "
The night wind turns in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest verses tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I also loved her.
How could he not have loved her big staring eyes.
I can write the saddest verses tonight.
To think that I do not have her. Feeling I've lost her.

Hear the inmense night, even more without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to grass.
Does it matter that my love could not keep it.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. In the distance someone sings. In the distance.
My soul is not content with having lost it.
As if to bring her closer, my gaze seeks her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, the ones then, are not the same.
I don't love her anymore, it's true, but how much I loved her.
My voice sought the wind to touch her ear.

Of other. She will be someone else's. As before my kisses.
Her voice, her body clear from her. Her eyes infinite hers.
I don't love her anymore, it's true, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, and oblivion is so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms
My soul is not content with having lost it.
Although this is the last pain that she causes me,
and these are the last verses that I write.

The Lover, by Alejandra Pizarnik

Alejandra Pizarnik, Argentine writer, confesses herself to be a lover and alone. Love is a trap, a cliff, the fate of the disaster to come.

this gloomy mania for living
this hidden humor of living

Alejandra drags you, do not deny it.

today you looked in the mirror
and it was sad you were alone
the light roared the air sang
but your lover did not come back

you will send messages you will smile
you will shake your hands so it will come back
your beloved so beloved

you hear the insane siren who stole it
the foam-bearded ship
where the laughs died
do you remember the last hug
oh no heartache
laugh into the handkerchief cries out loud
but close the doors of your face
so they don't say later
that that woman was you
the days bother you
they blame you for the nights
your life hurts so much
desperate, where are you going?
desperate nothing more!

Goodbye, by Claudio Rodríguez

The Spanish poet Claudio Rodríguez brings in this poem the echoes of anguish at the imminent separation. The time has come for her to say goodbye.

Anything was worth for my life
this afternoon. Anything small
if there is any. Martyrdom is the noise to me
serene, unscrupulous, no return
of your low shoe. What victories
looking for the one you love? Why are they so straight
these streets? I neither look back nor can I
lose you out of sight This is the land
of the lesson: even the friends
they give bad information. My mouth kisses
what dies, and accepts it. And the skin itself
of the lip is that of the wind. Goodbye. It is useful
rule this event, they say. Remains
you with our things, you, who can,
that I will go where the night wants.

Behold, you are alone and I am alone, by Jaime Sabines

Loneliness is mutual, says Jaime Sabines, a Mexican poet. It is absurd and abject. It behaves like a slow, empty death. A useless sadness, but insurmountable.

Behold, you are alone and I am alone.
You do your things daily and you think
and I think and I remember and I am alone.
At the same time we remind ourselves of something
and we suffer. Like a drug of mine and yours
we are, and a cellular madness runs through us
and a rebellious and tireless blood.
This body is going to make sores on me,
The meat will fall off piece by piece.
This is lye and death.
The corrosive being, the discomfort
dying is our death.

I don't know where you are anymore. I have already forgotten
who are you, where are you, what's your name
I am only a part, only an arm,
just one half, just one arm.
I remember you in my mouth and in my hands.
With my tongue and my eyes and my hands
I know you, you taste like love, sweet love, meat,
to sowing, to flower, you smell of love, of you,
You smell like salt, you taste like salt, love and me.
On my lips I know you, I recognize you,
and you turn and you are and you look tireless
and you all sound like me
inside the heart like my blood.
I am telling you that I am lonely and missing you.
We miss each other, love, and we die
and we will do nothing but die.
This I know, love, this we know.
Today and tomorrow, like this, and when we are
in our simple and tired arms,
I will miss you, love, we will miss each other.

Love, in the afternoon, by Mario Benedetti

The lover laments for the future-able ones: "What would it have been if you were here?" He wonders. He regrets the absence, but the lover still dreams, and in the memory he finds the fantastic joy of imagination.

It's a pity that you're not with me
when I look at the clock and it's four
and I finish the form and think ten minutes
and I stretch my legs like every afternoon
and I do this with my shoulders to loosen my back
And I bend my fingers and pull lies out of them

It's a pity that you're not with me
when I look at the clock and it's five
and I'm a handle that calculates interest
or two hands jumping over forty keys
or an ear that hears the phone barking
or a guy who does numbers and gets truths out of them.

It's a pity that you're not with me
When I look at the clock and it's six

You could come up in surprise
and say "How are you?" and we would stay
I with the red stain of your lips
you with the blue smudge of my carbon.

The resignation, by Andrés Bello

The lover holds the air as much as he can, but he plus he cannot. He suffocates, he needs to release his breath, open the hand that holds him to the confinement. Andrés Bello, a Venezuelan poet, thus goes through the pain of hopeless love, which, already exhausted, which, taken to its extreme, understands that everything has been unfounded by fantasy.

I have given up on you. It was not possible
They were vapors of fantasy;
they are fictions that sometimes give the inaccessible
a proximity from a distance.

I stared at how the river went
getting pregnant with the star ...
I sank my crazy hands towards her
and I knew the star was up ...

I have renounced you, serenely,
how the delinquent renounces God;
I have renounced you like the beggar
that is not seen by the old friend;

Like the one who sees great ships depart
as a course towards impossible and longed-for continents;
like the dog that quenches its loving spirits
when there is a large dog that shows its teeth;

Like the sailor who renounces the port
and the wandering ship that renounces the lighthouse
and like the blind man next to the open book
and the poor child before the expensive toy.

I have given up on you, how I give up
the madman to the word that his mouth pronounces;
like those autumnal rascals,
with static eyes and empty hands,
that cloud his resignation, blowing the glass
in the shop windows of the confectioneries ...

I have given up on you, and every moment
we give up a little of what we wanted before
and in the end, how many times the waning longing
ask for a piece of what we went before!

I go to my own level. I'm already calm.
When he renounces everything, I will be my own owner;
disrupting lace I will return to the thread.
Renunciation is the journey back from the dream ...

Come, by Jaime Sáenz

The Bolivian poet Jaime Sáenz represents the voice of the lover who does not give up, who evokes the presence of the loved one, as if it were a divine being. The lover begs, begs, and hopelessly waits.

Come; I live from your drawing
and your perfumed melody,
I dreamed in the star that with a song you could reach
-I saw you appear and I could not hold you, at a disturbing distance
the song took you
and it was a lot of distance and little your breath to reach
in time a glow of my heart
-the one that now bursts drowned by some compassionate rain.

Come, however; he lets my hand print
unforgettable force to your forgetfulness,
come closer to look at my shadow on the wall,
come once; I want to fulfill my goodbye wishes.

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