As in Neruda’s City, Unchanged

All things change, informs the poet.
From climate through seasons,
to stone that, through my hand,
becomes diamond.
Everything changes.

I had a cat, wasted cancerous,
but he was my master.
I had a home,
over time it became nothing more than a house.
I had a love,
at the end she didn’t care enough to hate me, just turned away.

Everything changes
you say Mercedes.
But some things, never.
The love for my country
wherever it is, wherever I am.
The love for my people
in all their hues and nationalities.
And my love for you.

No matter how far from you,
how far back from you I’ve moved,
this will never change.
And when, one day, as you will,
you ask: Are you still there for me ?
The answer will be as in Neruda’s city, unchanged.

Everything changes……but,
sometimes, somethings do not.
Love is a flower
and you
its’ only seed.
In every flower
in every woman
I see you.

This does not change.


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