I want you to know

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,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

- Pablo Neruda

What just happened

I built a house, with my very own hands, brick after a brick, and it took me some years. I got exhausted meanwhile, got disappointed sometimes, but I continued through rain or sun. Then, one day, I realized that my very beautiful house is located in the middle of a maddening square. I had done my best and the place was confortable, super comfortable, but located in the worst area possible.

Life was impossible there. After a while, I could not bear it anymore. You might blame the society, this country, or fate – whatever you call it. Labels are among the least important things at the moment.

Anyway, what could I do except leaving the beloved house, forever perhaps, in search of somewhere else? So, I became homeless. Now I would live anywhere, ugly, cheap, cramped, or old; I may rent somewhere for no one knows how long; I might buy a place, I cannot say.

For sure, I know that there is nowhere in this world like the house I had all those years. For one thing, I spend all my life, my taste, my expectations on that; for another, I am so different that I may never fit into anything else, not even into the most beautiful ones. I left, and I am homeless now. But there was no other choice. But I had no other choice.

There’s nothing wrong, that’s my song, I want to let it play..

Despite his seriousness, even a scarecrow may want to have fun once in every 300 years. He might like to play, neither to win nor to practice the tactics, just for the sake of the game. He might plan to lose but enjoy watching the game instead. He might like to lose while laughing. He might like to play carelessly, while enjoying the weather.

Scarecrows are weird.

- Nowrooz 1390

http://i48.vbox7.com/player/ext.swf?vid=9ccad931