Flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer
Remember your hands,
how did your lips
feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues
Drowsing in the parks, the winter statues that
Have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;
I have forgotten your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to
My vaque memory of you, I live with pain
That is like a wound, if you touch me, you will
Make to me an irreperable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing
Vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to
Glimpse you in every window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of
Summer pain me, because of you, I again
Seek out the signs that precipitate desires:
Shooting stars, falling objects.
From the pen of one my favourite poets. Born Ricardo Reyes Basaolto, this Chilean poet adopted legally in 1945 the pen name of Pablo Neruda.
From the 1940's on his work reflected the political struggle of the left and social developments in South America, his poetry ranging from Surrealism to political manifestos, but he was also a poet of love, never ambiguous but very open about his feelings.
Earlier post on Pablo here.
Pablo Neruda - Poet of Love