Letting go

~ If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the brass sun, at the bare branch
of the supine winter at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
we meet in moments, shared memories,
as if aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
between our isles.

Well, now,
if little by little you change the course,
I shall change it too, 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 current of the tides
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall raise my arms
and dive into the waters
that lap around my island.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are close to me
with lasting kindness,
if each day a thought
climbs into your mind to seek me,
ah my friend, ah my own,
in me all that warmth is beckoning,
in me nothing is lost or forgotten,
my friendship feeds on yours, companion,
and as long as we live it will be on the map
marked and unmistakable. ~

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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,
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.