If You Forget Me
by Pablo Neruda
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,
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.
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