Men XI by Pablo Neruda — Read

One can see we were born to hear and see each other, to compete (how high we jump, how often we win, how much we earn, et cetera), to ignore each other (smiling), to lie in order to agree or be indifferent or eat together.

But let no one reveal the world to us, for we acquire oblivion, nothing but dreams of air, and all that's left is an aftertaste of blood and dust on the tongue: we swallow the memory with wine and beer, so far, far from all that, from the mother, from the land of our lives.