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Coursing through life (like water), I write for you.
Compelled by the arms of time and gravity.
Let the Earth whirl sideways, I write for you.
Relentlessly catching my breath.
Let Earth, moon, and passion above, I write for you.
Not gold nor silver makes it so.
Through the endless pull of care, I write for you.
The joy and happiness of you. The sorrow.
Through doors of Heaven and Hell, I write for you.
The incessant certainty of uncertainty.
Through the winds of lost and gone, I write for you.
For you I care.
I write for the love of it. And for the love of you.
So long as there is you,
So long as there are dreams, I write for you.
I want no regrets, not having done.
And through the long wreckage of truth, I write for understanding.
Photo by Ryutaro Tsukata from Pexels
Photo by cottonbro from Pexels
“I want you to know
“If You Forget Me,” by Pablo Neruda
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.”