The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of the twilight
that revolves around you
Speechless, my friend,
alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead
and filled with the lives of fire,
pure heir of the ruined day.
A bough of fruit falls from the sun on your dark garment.
The great roots of night
grow suddenly from your soul,
and things that hide in you come out again
so that a blue and pallid people,
your newly born, takes nourishment.
Oh magnificent and fecund and magnetic slave
of the circle that moves in turn through black and gold:
rise, lead and possess a creation
so rich in life that its flowers perish
and it is full of sadness.
nishsrivastava.wordpress.com 
Thank you for posting this Nish. I have read so many of Pablo Neruda’s poems, but this one was new for me. My favorite by him is Sonnet XVII – especially the closing stanza:
So I love you because I know no other way than this:
Where neither you nor I exist;
So close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Ahhh….