What is that wobbling target?
What is this bow I am holding?
Why am I on this tiny boat?
Why am I staggering on this rolling water?
With a unleashed fantasy and
With a petty sense of guilt thrusted into a hip pocket,
I set out on a trip with her.
Nobody would dare to paint over my painting.
My name and her name are lying side by side;
My winged illusion has become a reality in this fashion.
When my heart that’s been pounding with great joy,
sees a hole in her sock, it picks up a small boat
and rows toward the center of the lake.
Lay down your bow!
How could you be a flower if you act like a hungry bird?
How come you try to uproot yourself?
If you wobble like a reed in the wind,
could you become an easy target for her?
Ah! I too have a fierce life….