August 3, 2012

  • If You Forget Me

     
    I want you to know
    one thing. 

    You know how this is: 
    if I look 
    at the crystal moon, at the red branch 
    of the slow autumn at my window, 
    if I touch 
    near the fire 
    the impalpable ash 
    or the wrinkled body of the log, 
    everything carries me to you, 
    as if everything that exists, 
    aromas, light, metals, 
    were little boats 
    that sail 
    toward those isles of yours that wait for me. 

    Well, now, 
    if little by little you stop loving me 
    I shall stop loving you little by little. 

    If suddenly 
    you forget me 
    do not look for me, 
    for I shall already have forgotten you. 

    If you think it long and mad, 
    the wind of banners 
    that passes through my life, 
    and you decide 
    to leave me at the shore 
    of the heart where I have roots, 
    remember 
    that on that day, 
    at that hour, 
    I shall lift my arms 
    and my roots will set off 
    to seek another land. 

    But 
    if each day, 
    each hour, 
    you feel that you are destined for me 
    with implacable sweetness, 
    if each day a flower 
    climbs up to your lips to seek me, 
    ah my love, ah my own, 
    in me all that fire is repeated, 
    in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, 
    my love feeds on your love, beloved, 
    and as long as you live it will be in your arms 
    without leaving mine.

     
    - Pablo Neruda