The Watersong Ends by Pablo Neruda — Read

You will know that in that region I once crossed fearfully the night was stirring with secret sounds, darkness of jungle, and I crawled along in a truck into that curious universe- black Asia, forest dark, sacred ash, and my youth trembling like the wings of a fly darting from this place to that in uncertain kingdoms.

All at once the wheels came to a stop, the unknown ones climbed down and there I was, a foreigner, in the solitudes of the jungle, there, marooned in that truck stranded in night, twenty years old, waiting for death, shrinking into my language.