The best poems by Pablo Neruda

Poet, diplomat and politician, born tuesday july 12, 1904 in Parral (Chile), died sunday september 23, 1973 in Santiago de Chile (Chile)
You can find this author also in Quotes & Aphorisms.

Posted by: R. Parisi
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.
Pablo Neruda
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    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
    than 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.
    Pablo Neruda
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      If I die, survive me with such a pure force
      you make the pallor and the coldness rage;
      flash your indelible eyes from south to south,
      from sun to sun, till your mouth sings like a guitar.
      I don't want your laugh or your footsteps to waver;
      I don't want my legacy of happiness to die;
      don't call to my breast: I'm not there.
      Live in my absence as in a house.
      Absence is such a large house
      that you'll walk through the walls,
      hang pictures in sheer air.
      Absence is such a transparent house
      that even being dead I will see you there,
      and if you suffer, Love, I'll die a second time.
      Pablo Neruda
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        Posted by: MesaQueen
        You must know that I do not love and that I love you,
        because everything alive has its two sides;
        a word is one wing of silence,
        fire has its cold half.
        I love you in order to begin to love you,
        to start infinity again
        and never to stop loving you:
        that's why I do not love you yet.
        I love you, and I do not love you, as if I held
        keys in my hand: to a future of joy-
        a wretched, muddled fate-
        My love has two lives, in order to love you. That?s why I love you when I do not love you,
        and also why I love you when I do.
        Pablo Neruda
        Written on tuesday june 14, 2011
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          Posted by: Saeglopur
          Modest is the autumn, like the woodcutters.
          It's costly to cut all the leaves
          off all the trees of all places.
          In spring they're sewn on in flight
          and now you must let them fall
          as if they were little yellow birds:
          it insn't easy.
          You need time.
          You must run the streets,
          speak the languages
          and everywhere, always,
          let fall,
          fall,
          let fall,
          fall the leaves.
          It's hard to be autumn,
          easy to be spring.
          Turning on all that is born
          to be turned on.
          Turning off the world, instead,
          making it slip away
          as if it were a circle of yellow roses,
          'til smells, light and roots mix
          and making wine lift to grapes,
          minting patiently the irregular coin
          from the top of the tree
          and dispersing it later
          on uninterested desert roads,
          is the job of manly hands.
          Pablo Neruda
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            Posted by: Luciella Karenina
            When I knew, simply, that I existed
            that I could've been, continued,
            I felt afraid of it, of life,
            I wanted them not to see me,
            that they didn't know about my existence.
            I became thin, pale, absent,
            I didn't want to speak so that they couldn't
            recognize my voice, I didn't want to see
            so that they wouldn't see me,
            walking, I stuck to a wall
            like a shadow that slips away.
            I would've dressed
            with red tiles, of smoke.
            to stay there, but invisible,
            to be present in everything, but from afar,
            mantaining my obscure identity,
            tied to the rhythm of spring.
            Pablo Neruda
            Written on wednesday september 12, 2012
            from the book "" by Pablo Neruda
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