Sonnet XXVII (Morning) - read by Sting, poem by Pablo Neruda (Chile)

Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,
smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:
you have moon-lines, apple-pathways:
naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.

Naked, you are blue as a night in Cuba;
you have vines and stars in your hair;
naked you are spacious and yellow
as summer in a golden church.

Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails -
curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
and you withdraw to the underground world,
as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores:
your clear light dims, gets dressed - drops its leaves -
and becomes a naked hand again.

Sonnet LXXXI (And now You're mine) - read by Julia Roberts and Andy Garcia, poem by Pablo Neruda (Chile)

And now you're mine.
Rest with your dream in my dream.
Love and pain and work
should all sleep, now.
The night turns on its invisible wheels,
and you are pure beside me
as a sleeping amber.

No one else, Love,
will sleep in my dreams.
You will go, we will go together,
over the waters of time.
No one else will travel
through the shadows with me, only you,
evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.

Your hands have already opened
their delicate fists
and let their soft
drifting signs drop away;
your eyes closed
like two gray wings, and I move...

... after,
following the folding water you carry,
that carries me away.
The night, the world, the wind
spin out their destiny.
Without you, I am your dream,
only that, and that is all.

If you forget me - read by Madonna, poem by Pablo Neruda (Chile)

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.