Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to...
I finish reading a book I say
it was an experience like striking a match
to chase away the darkness inside.
Too much sunlight
means we can’t see in any direction.
Inside all is dark, nothing but dark.
In the universal darkness we call sorrow
what we call happiness is a firefly.
Aspiring to happiness means
running after the light,
keeping on running in the dark.
Who are you, poem?
Who are you, poem,
substance of haunting words deep in the womb,
shade of the mountains’ unimaginable meaning?
Where are you hiding?
Crystallized dew drop of morning’s mist,
forming mountainous clouds and not falling in rain,
ask after us!
Are you the seething of a stomach without food?
Are you the turmoil of an old man with no place?
The invisible and eternal truth, you say,
the child’s smile hidden in passion,
the blossoming flower in the pollen gathered by the bee -
talk to us!
The poem said:
sunrise in the depths of darkness,
darkness that covers the light.
The poem says further:
the day gone by is illusion,
tomorrow is a stick we hold on to.
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