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

*sigh*