Mourning
Time is running out, you, the poet
What are you running after?
Memory (or) prophecy
Alas, the footprints on the windowsill are yours
Weather changing
Terrain unmarked
The deepest water belongs to you
Someone throws stone into that
And you give it your whole life
We have been misled for a long while
Deeply believing that
Waves are simply made of water
Then, what is the world made of?
If excluding our heart
The terrain is more unrecognizable
Each step leads us astray
You follow the water
Each step can blossom
Each step has the broken shadow of a maiden
And the broken mirror
Only the broken shadow of the maiden belongs to us
Alas, what can be more complete than Death?
Why do you want to bring back the dead soul, Flesh?
Why not let it be itself?
Soul is yours, so is immortality
What’s decaying is the stone
You seem to have never had a body
But your heart echoes the thunder in the spring
As the storm breaks loose
We’re waiting for another news from Death
: 2011
