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ALWAYS, After Pablo Neruda
I'm not concerned about those other men,
The lovers who came before me.
I could not care less! Forget about it.
Your friends, those guys who had previous claim,
Who boasted title to the blood rush of your heart,
They mean nothing to me.
Come to me carrying an old boyfriend on your shoulders.
Show me that picture,
The one which has a hundred men sniffing your hair.
Conjure up a mother goddess image,
A thousand guys nestling between your breasts,
Or tell me that you have had acolytes adoring your feet.
Flood me over as were your memories
A monsoon river torrent, when in mid-July it empties
The mountain-gully slopes of Goa,
And speeds the great, red earth out into the Sea of Arabia.
Roar into me with the tidal wave of all your mementos.
Show me the wrecked hopes,
The twists and heaps of those tokens which at one time spelled
The bleeding-heart intent of your now-drowned lovers.
How wretchedly long the debris stretch,
How deep and far your keepsakes tear inland over the coastline!
What vanity dreams to withstand the timeless motion of the surf!
Yet here I am.
I wait. I am waiting for you,
No matter what, or who it is, you may bring along.
We are alone, we shall always be alone,
We shall always be you and I.
And here -- here is the time,
The place, where, through the ages,
Through worlds and worlds, through universes apart,
In a flash out from the cycle of life after life.
We are now at the moment.
Our affection reaches beyond the stint of ordinary dimension.
It has settled in for the term we call immortality.
