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.

Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)

Photo: Evgenija Bitter