The Question

Love, a questionhas destroyed you.

I have come back to youfrom thorny uncertainty.

I want you straight asthe sword or the road.

But you insiston keeping a nookof shadow that I do not want.

My love,understand 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 notthe one who once stoppedat your window.

I knock down the door:

I enter your life:

I come to live in your soul:you cannot cope with me.

You must open door to door,you must obey me,you must open your eyesso that I may search in them,you must see how I walkwith heavy stepsalong all the roadsthat, blind, were waiting for me.

Do not fear,

I am yours,butI am not the passenger or the beggar,

I am your master,the one you were waiting for,and now I enteryour life,no more to leave it,love, love, love,but to stay.