"The Tiger" By Pablo Neruda I am the tiger. I lie in wait for you among leaves broad as ingots of wet mineral. The white river grows beneath the fog.  You come. Naked you submerge. I wait. Then in a leap of fire, blood, teeth, with a claw slash I tear away your bosom, your hips. I drink your blood, I break your limbs one by one. And I remain watching for years in the forest over your bones, your ashes, motionless, far from hatred and anger, disarmed in your death, crossed by lianas, motionless in the rain, relentless sentinel of my murderous love. I am the condor, I fly over you who walk and suddenly in a wheeling of wind, feather, claws, I assault you and I lift you in a whistling cyclone of hurricaned cold. And to my tower of snow, to my dark eyrie I take you and you live alone, and you cover yourself with feathers and you fly above the world, motionaless on the heights. Female condor, let us pounce upon this red prey, let us tear life that passes throbbing and lift together our wild flight.