Saturday, April 27, 2013

If You Forget Me (by Pablo Neruda, read by Madonna)


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.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Down by the Sea of Hopeless Dreams

I was swimming in a barren sea with nothing but rocks underneath. I kept moving forward until I found the first sign of life. When I came up for air, I noticed that I’ve reached the other end of the ocean. It was much more bountiful than the side from which I came. Near the shore, surrounded by girls whose faces I can’t remember, was a figure of someone I know so well—you. For a second, our eyes met. You looked at me with blank eyes and a lopsided grin, and I found myself inching a little closer. I tried to stay, but something inside me pulled me back to the desolate waters, and back to the shore that’s almost void of life.

Back on my side of the sea, I was being called home. Standing near the shore, I decided to stay out a little longer, hoping that you’d come for me. I never thought you would, but still I hoped. As I was about to walk away, someone grabbed a hold of my hand and stopped me. The touch was familiar, and I knew then whose hands held mine. You tried to look me in the eye, but my gaze was downcast. I wasn’t even looking at you, but I could feel your lips slowly part. And just when you were about to say something, just when I could almost hear your breath turn into words, I woke up.