I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagates fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
By Pablo Neruda
Translated by Mark Eisner
Poetry Foundation (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/49236)
I never wrote a love poem, I don’t know why. Maybe because I have been busy writing about my children, odd sock, insomnia, anxiety, etc, or maybe because it never occurred to me to write a love poem. What I know is the reason why it never happened is not because I don’t love, because I do and the poem above is one of my favourite love poems, which I happen to have chosen for my first public poetry reading. I love this poem because it describes how I feel about love, I feel that I could have written it, should I be so talented 😉