Now we will count up to twelve
and we’ll all be still.
For once on earth,
we won’t speak in any language,
but stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment,
without rush, without locomotion,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the salt workers
would look at their torn hands.
Those preparing green wars,
wars of gas, wars with fire,
victories without survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and would walk with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
Do not confuse what I want
with total inactivity:
life is the only thing to do,
I want nothing of death.
If we were not unanimous
about keeping our lives moving,
but did nothing just this once,
perhaps a great silence might
interrupt this sadness,
of misunderstanding
that threatens us with death,
and earth will teach us
That when everything seems dead
it’s then that everything is alive.
Now count up to twelve
and keep quiet and leave.
– Pablo Neruda
