My fav Neruda poems

I was just reading through some poems online by Pablo Neruda and thought of uploading my
super favorite ones! Here they are -

I do not love you... by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself
the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,risen from the earth,
lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
that this: where I does not exist,
nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep

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.

We are the clumsy passersby by Pablo Neruda

We are the clumsy passersby, we push past each other with elbows,
with feet, with trousers, with suitcases,
we get off the train, the jet plane, the ship,
we step down in our wrinkled suits and sinister hats.
We are all guilty, we are all sinners,
we come from dead-end hotels or industrial peace,
this might be our last clean shirt,
we have misplaced our tie, yet even so, on the edge of panic, pompous,
sons of bitches who move in the highest circles
or quiet types who don't owe anything to anybody,
we are one and the same, the same in time's eyes,
or in solitude's: we are the poor devils
who earn a living and a death working
bureautragically or in the usual ways,
sitting down or packed together in subway stations,boats, mines,
research centers, jails,universities, breweries,
(under our clothes the same thirsty skin),
(the hair, the same hair, only in different colors).