They all ask me to jump <br />to invigorate and to play soccer, <br />to run, to swim and to fly. <br />Very well. <br /> <br />They all advise me rest, <br />they all send me to the doctor, <br />looking at me a certain way. <br />What happens? <br /> <br />They all advise me to travel, <br />to come and to leave, to stay, <br />to die and not to die. <br />It does not matter. <br /> <br />They all see the difficulties <br />of my surprised bowels <br />by awful X-rayed portraits. <br />I do not agree. <br /> <br />They all sting my poetry <br />with relentless forks <br />seeking, without doubt, a fly, <br />I Am afraid. <br /> <br />I am afraid of everyone, <br />of the cold water, of the death. <br />I am like all the mortals, <br />unavoidable. <br /> <br />And for that, in these short days <br />I am not going to pay attention to them, <br />I am going to open myself up and shut myself in <br />with my more perfidious enemy, <br />Pablo Neruda.<br /><br />Pablo Neruda<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fear-11/
