The Question
Love, a question
has destroyed you.
I have e back to you
from thorny uainty.
I want you straight as
the sword or the road.
But you insist
on keeping a nook
of shadow that I do not want.
My love,
uand me,
I love all of you,
from eyes to feet, to toenails,
inside,
all the brightness, which you kept.
It is I, my love,
who knocks at your door.
It is not the ghost, it is not
the one who oopped
at your window.
I knock down the door:
I enter your life:
I e to live in your soul:
you ot cope with me.
You must open door to door,
you must obey me,
you must open your eyes
so that I may sear them,
you must see how I walk
with heavy steps
along all the roads
that, blind, were waiting for me.
Do not fear,
I am yours,
but
I am not the passenger or the beggar,
I am your master,
the one you were waiting for,
and now I enter
your life,
no more to leave it,
love, love, love,
but to stay.
Pablo Neruda