There are things
I will never understand.
The pain, the hate that
exists within my life.
There is nothing but time,
there is nothing real.
Truth is a concept,
no one ever sees.
No one ever feels it right,
and inside the truth
are only questions
of pain, of reality,
and a forgoing existence,
that has everyone living
outside the truth
and inside tradition,
opinion and thought.
With all being accepted now.
All truth changes in time…
“Do you remember yesterday?
Was last year the same? ”
In truth, death is reality.
Inside me, I feel alone,
The world still in motion.
People walking, but I’m the only one who has stopped.
I see me and I feel discussed.
I’m not what people want,
I’m as if handicapped, helpless.
I cry yet no one seems to care,
I try to fit in the world’s puzzle, but I seem too different to fit.
I look deep inside myself and there is pain,
New and old still there growing,
Yet no one sees that part of my fairy tale life.
I want the life that these so-called humans have,
But they just won’t allow me as me.
I want to just jump out of this ugly body of mine,
And stop my pretend life and live my true soul.
Till I start moving in motion with the world,
I will curl up as I am now,
The western wind has blown but a few days;
Yet the first leaf already flies from the bough.
On the drying paths I walk in my thin shoes;
In the first cold, I have donned my quilted coat.
Through shallow ditches the floods are clearing away;
Through sparse bamboo trickles a slanting light.
In the early dusk, down an alley of green moss,
The garden-boy is leading the cranes home.
Remnants of sun ribbon the river–
half and half, black river red.
The third night, ninth month lovely hour;
pearled dew, bent bow moon.
Don’t think of the past;
It only awakens painful regrets.
Don’t think of the future;
It paralyzes with uncertain longings.
Better by day to sit like a sack in your chair;
Better by night to lie like a stone in your bed.
When food comes-open your mouth.
When sleeping comes-shut your eyes.
The fields are snowbound no longer;
There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green.
The snow has been caught up into the sky–
So many white clouds–and the blue of the sky is cold.
Now the sun walks in the forest,
He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers;
They shiver and wake from slumber.
Over the barren branches, he shakes his yellow curls.
Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears…
A wind dances over the fields.
Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter,
Yet the little blue lakes tremble
And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver.
Spring is life
Spring is hope
So is love and
life is forlorn.
Spring is nostalgia
after the bitter storm.
Put spring in your heart