Memories, far or close?

I miss him so often,

I miss the streets inwhich we used to walk,

I miss the caffees we used to sit in and talk.

I miss him so often.

If past is gone and future has not come,

Who are we?

Who are the people in our memories?

What are memories?

If past is gone and people in past are dead,

Who do I miss?

Who do I wish to kiss?

If future has not come and people in future are to be born,

Who will I meet?

In who will I leak?

I ask for Silence

Now they leave me in peace
Now they grow used to my absence.

I am going to close my eyes.

I wish for five things only,
five chosen touchstones.

One is prepetual love.

The second is to see the autumn.
I cannot exist without leaves
flying
and falling to earth.

The third is the solemn winter,
the rain I loved, the caress
of fire
in the rough cold.

Fourthly, the summer,
plump as a watermelon.

And, fifth, your eyes.
Matilda, my dear love,
I will not sleep wothout your eyes.
I will not exist but in your gaze.
I adjust the spring
for you to follow me with your eyes.

. . .

Pablo Neruda