5 Latin American love poems that will make you move to tears

Is there anything more beautiful than a love poem? Surely not too many things. A poem has the ability to convey ideas and deep feelings in just a few lines.

It can even change our day!

These Latin American poets have been able to move like no one else with their lines, and you will love reading their love poems.

1. I love you – Mario Benedetti

your hands are my caress
my everyday chords
I love you because your hands
they work for justice

if I love you it’s because you are
my love my accomplice and everything
and in the street side by side
We are much more than two

your eyes are my spell
against the bad day
I love you for your look
that looks and sows the future

your mouth that is yours and mine
your mouth is not wrong
I love you because your mouth
knows how to shout rebellion

if I love you it’s because you are
my love my accomplice and everything
and in the street side by side
We are much more than two

and for your sincere face
and your vagrant step
And your tears for the world
because you are people I love you

and because love is not halo
nor candid moral
and because we are a couple
who knows that she is not alone

I love you in my paradise
that is to say that in my country
people live happily
even if you don’t have permission

if I love you it’s because you are
my love my accomplice and everything
and in the street side by side
We are much more than two.

2. It is not that I die of love – Jaime Sabines

It’s not that I die of love, I die of you.
I die of you, love, of love of you,
of my urgency of my skin of you,
of my soul, of you and of my mouth
and how unbearable I am without you.

I die of you and me, I die of both,
of us, of that,
torn, match,
I die, I die to you, we die.

We die in my room where I’m alone
in my bed in which you are missing,
in the street where my arm goes empty,
in the cinema and the parks, the trams,
the places where my shoulder
get used to your head
and my hand your hand
and all I know of you as myself.

We die in the place that I have lent to the air
for you to be out of me,
and in the place where the air runs out
when I throw my skin on you
and we know ourselves in ourselves,
separated from the world, happy, penetrated,
and true, endless.

We die, we know it, they ignore it, we die
between the two, now, separated,
from one to the other, daily,
falling into multiple statues,
in gestures that we do not see,
in our hands that need us.

We die, love, I die in your womb
I don’t bite or kiss
in your most sweet and alive thighs,
in your endless flesh, I die of masks,
of dark and incessant triangles.

I die of my body and your body,
of our death, love, I die, we die.

In the well of love at all hours,
inconsolable, screaming,
inside of me, I mean, I call you,
They call you those who are born, those who come
from behind, from you, those who come to you.

We die, love, and we do nothing
but to die more, hour after hour,
and write to us and talk to us and die.

3. The Lovers – Julio Cortázar

Who sees them walking through the city
if everyone is blind?
They hold hands: something speaks
between their fingers, sweet tongues
they lick the moist palm, they run along the phalanges,
and above is the night full of eyes.

They are the lovers, their island floats adrift
towards turf deaths, towards ports
that open between sheets.
Everything is messed up through them,
everything finds its hidden figure;
but they don’t even know
that while they roll in their bitter sand
there is a pause in the work of nothing,
the tiger is a garden that plays.

Dawn in the garbage trucks,
the blind begin to come out,
the ministry opens its doors.
Surrendered lovers look at each other and touch each other
one more time before smelling the day.

They are already dressed, they are going for the street.
And it’s only then
when they are dead, when they are dressed,
that the city recovers them hypocrite
and imposes the daily duties on them.

4. Ashes – Alejandra Pizarnik

The night splintered with stars
looking at me hallucinated
the air throws hate
beautified her face
with music.

Soon we will go

arcane dream
ancestor of my smile
the world is emaciated
and there is a padlock but no keys
and there is dread but no tears.

What will I do with myself?

Because I owe you what I am

But I don’t have tomorrow

Because you…

The night suffers.

5. The Lover – Jorge Luis Borges

Moons, ivories, instruments, roses,
lamps and Dürer’s line,
the nine figures and the changing zero,
I must pretend such things exist.

I must pretend that in the past they were
Persepolis and Rome and what an arena
subtle measured the fate of the battlement
that the centuries of iron undid.

I must fake the guns and the pyre
Of the epic and the heavy seas
that gnaw the pillars from the earth.

I must pretend there are others. Is a lie.
Only you are. you my misfortune
and my happiness, inexhaustible and pure.