The Question

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    <strong>The Question</strong>

    Love, a question

    has destroyed you.

    I have e back to you

    from thorny uainty.

    I want you straight as

    th<u></u>e sword or the road.

    But y>９9liｂ?</a>ou insist

    on keeping a nook

    of sha<u></u>dow 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

    <bdo>.９9ｌib.</bdo>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.

    <strong>Pablo Neruda</strong>

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