I Shall Be a Flower 1: Butterflies’ Name

With my eyes wide open
during the Sunday Mass,
I dreamt a dream;
I raised a veil of the flower,
which unveiled another veil
that veiled another flower;
When I saw this beautiful blossom,
my dream started this way.
I wish she were a real butterfly,
not just in name only.
With my wings folded,
I’ve become a flower
and I flow my scent out bit by bit,
‘till the butterfly feels happy
after being poisoned by the fragrance.
She says; I am already happy now!
Do we know what the happiness is?

Woman with No Tears

She doesn’t have tears, I hear;
She can’t weep when dumped by a man.
So she used to kick man away first.
Giggling at the man holding his stick in agony,
She comforted her sorrow
that she couldn’t shed tears.

Alas! She can’t dump me, though;
In spite of those many crappy days together.
She might be humiliated by not being able to cry
If deserted by me.
She can’t enjoy throwing me away
She can’t do anything about loving somebody.

She says she doesn’t need tears.
She weeps with her whole body.
She sheds tears through her feeble flesh.
Tears doesn’t come out only from eyes, I should say
Shedding tears is not the same as weeping, is it?
She is always sobbing even without tears.

In this way, I am stuck in her,
since I can’t make her weep;
woman who can’t shed her tears….

Night Fog

i read a poem
as if walking in a thick fog
in my dark room.
i read a poem
written by a woman
whose mind even God wouldn’t know.
i put out the dim candle light in the room;
i read a poem
without caring where this invisible road
in the night fog leads to.

with this feeling in the fog as it is
with this dark feeling as it is
i write a poem.
in order for the woman who loves me
to get lost in the night fog;
nah, she wouldn’t even look for a road.
i write a poem.
in order for her
to feel my small breath
to feel my shaking hands
to feel my bitter yearning
in the deep darkness
where even a single firefly
is not allowed,
i write a poem.