Pablo Neruda

(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973 / Parral)

Comments about Pablo Neruda

  • Account User (6/22/2017 11:19:00 AM)

    This does poem by Neruda not speak of love of another.
    It speaks of self-love.

    Read it again- and think.

    When one really loves- one does not think of being loved.
    No. Not at all.
    Read it again- and think.

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  • Greg Bell Greg Bell (4/16/2017 4:44:00 PM)

    A great poet in any language.

  • Faith Fetty Faith Fetty (11/29/2016 8:14:00 AM)

    would you like to be my friend on here

  • Clement Antwi (10/30/2016 5:34:00 PM)

    I love him soo much

  • Sanili Saha (9/16/2016 11:36:00 AM)

    I can read and re-read to feel the resonance in his lines.....

  • Uddhab Naik Uddhab Naik (8/19/2016 9:54:00 AM)

    Outstanding piece of poetry...

  • Dddd Ssss (7/11/2016 8:25:00 AM)

    it is realy good poem

  • Otteri Selvakumar Otteri Selvakumar (6/26/2016 1:20:00 PM)

    Wonderful poet writing wonder poems

  • Soul Watcher Soul Watcher (6/23/2016 2:34:00 AM)

    Pablo Neruda was the pen name and, later, legal name of the Chilean poet and politician Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto. He chose his pen name after Czech poet Jan Neruda.

  • Soul Watcher Soul Watcher (6/22/2016 10:48:00 AM)

    I like this poet, never get bored of reading his poems

Best Poem of Pablo Neruda

If You Forget Me

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,...

Read the full of If You Forget Me

In My Sky At Twilight

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.

The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

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