Basically letters from Mr. Pablo Neruda. Pablo, the poet who fascinated women. A poet loved by the people. Loved by the people, fascinated by women, I heard from the news. Yes, but mainly the people, he's a communist, get it? clear. I'm your boss and you should call me Mr. but I don't care because I'm a communist too, remember, the poet is a great and generous man, he must be respected, you have to say hello to him and say thank you, If you tip, thank him again, remember? Poetry cannot be explained in another way. Once explained, poetry becomes boring. It is better than any explanation to use emotional experience to comprehend poetry, so as to fully appreciate and understand its artistic conception. It's better to say something you firmly believe in than to say something someone else expects you to say. People with strong desires will try to change the status quo. I fell in love. It's nothing, there's salvation. No, Mr. Pablo, I don't want to be saved, I want to be so sick, I'm really in love. At the beginning, she said very pure, "Her smile is like a butterfly flying", but now she says, "Her breasts are like two burning fires". My dear poet and comrade, you put me in this predicament, you have to help me out, you gave me books and insights, you told me that my tongue is not just for licking stamps, it was your fault that I fell in love . No, it's not my fault, I gave you the book, but I didn't allow you to copy my poems, you gave Beatrice the poems I wrote to Mattie. Poems belong not to those who write them, but to those who need them. I appreciate your highly democratic attitude. If Neruda did not believe in God, why should God trust him. I told you that birds will fly away when they are full, and people are good to you when you are of value.
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