If You Forget Me

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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,
        that on that day,
        at that hour,
        I shall lift my arms
        and my roots will set off
        to seek another land.

        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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