Pablo Neruda

(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973 / Parral / Chile)

Pablo Neruda Poems

41. In My Sky At Twilight 1/3/2003
42. In You The Earth 3/22/2010
43. It’s Good To Feel You Are Close To Me 3/22/2010
44. La Muerta 3/29/2010
45. La Reina (And Translation) 3/29/2010
46. Leaning Into The Afternoons 1/3/2003
47. Leave Me A Place Underground 3/29/2010
48. Lone Gentleman 3/29/2010
49. Lost In The Forest 3/29/2010
50. Lost In The Forest... 1/3/2003
51. Love 1/13/2003
52. Love Sonnet XVII 3/29/2010
53. Love, We'Re Going Home Now 3/22/2010
54. Lovely One 3/22/2010
55. Luminous Mind, Bright Devil 3/22/2010
56. Lxxxiv From: ‘cien Sonetos De Amor’ 3/22/2010
57. Magellanic Penguin 1/13/2003
58. Nothing But Death 1/13/2003
59. Oda Al Tomate 3/29/2010
60. Ode To A Large Tuna In The Market 1/20/2003
61. Ode To A Naked Beauty 3/22/2010
62. Ode To Age 5/14/2015
63. Ode To Bird Watching 3/22/2010
64. Ode To Broken Things 3/22/2010
65. Ode To Clothes 3/22/2010
66. Ode to Hope 4/20/2015
67. Ode To Ironing 3/18/2015
68. Ode To Maize 1/3/2003
69. Ode To My Socks 3/22/2010
70. Ode To Sadness 1/3/2003
71. Ode To Salt 1/20/2003
72. Ode To The Artichoke 3/22/2010
73. Ode To The Book 1/3/2003
74. Ode To The Cat 1/20/2015
75. Ode To Tomatoes 3/22/2010
76. Ode To Wine 1/3/2003
77. Poesia 3/29/2010
78. Poetry 1/3/2003
79. Poet's Obligation 3/22/2010
80. Poor Creatures 3/29/2010
Best Poem of Pablo Neruda

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,...

Read the full of If You Forget Me

Unity

There is something dense, united, settled in the depths,
repeating its number, its identical sign.
How it is noted that stones have touched time,
in their refined matter there is an odor of age,
of water brought by the sea, from salt and sleep.

I'm encircled by a single thing, a single movement:
a mineral weight, a honeyed light
cling to the sound of the word "noche":

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