It was not a smile of enlightenment.
It was not a smile of self-satisfaction from understanding.
It was not a smile of ecstasy of being a Buddha’s successor.
Because I am not Buddha.
It was a smile of joy.
It was Holy Mother’s smile seeing angel Gabriel.
It was not a smile of God’s Mother shouldering world’s suffering.
Because I don’t want to be an angel.
It was a smile of love.
I’d never seen such a smile shining like the Sun.
Her sub-conscience has received the light of the rising Sun?
I am her Sun? Really? Nah…
It was a smile of delight that couldn’t be hidden.
The delight that the beautiful wild flower was found in deep remote mountain.
Oh! How come this pretty flower is here! Woman’s shouting for joy.
It was a sound of a wingbeat of a butterfly that flown to this deep mount.
Will there be a day that I can see that smile again?
Entering in the valley where I am in blossom,
she might get lost as if it is a fate.
Then I have to in blossom shabbily by her road,
Risking of being trampled to death by people?
It was just a simple of not going amiss.
Just like a person who showed a simile of enlightenment,
The immaculate smile that meets the truth.
Then am I the truth?
What is truth?
Jesus’ mysterious smile answering this question.
A man who is being loved,
who wants to interpret as ‘the truth is the person I love’.
Is that butterfly so common
that I can’t remember seeing it
even though I saw it many times?
Its wings are not fancy with no rainbow colors.
They are not rare wings with eccentric shape.
They are not wings with mottled pattern.
They don’t have strong primary colors.
They can’t be distinguished with dull background.
Still, the butterfly flutters its wings in pride.
Why does a fancy butterfly lime me awake
and want to be a flower?
Why do I want to rooted in and locked up in a land,
even though I was flying in the sky in freedom?
The butterfly might be a lonely wild flower
born in deep remote mountain
or it might be a pitiful grass hanging in the cliff.
or it might be a woman waiting for a man in the red street.
Well, it might be a mother with baby on her back,
going over a dark hill.
That is why she is so sexy;
She is so so ordinary.
A woman who’ve lost her husband
and have been living with her only son
whom she is betting her only hope on,
follows the funeral procession of her son,
blaming God who has no heart no mercy.
Who’s trying to steal my grief?
I am alive but not living.
Can’t I even cry?
Somebody puts hands on the coffin
of my precious son? How dare?!
Is this man maybe….
Jesus the famous?
I heard that he performed many miracles,
but can he raise the dead?
Rise? Who rises?
Is he telling me to stop crying and move on?
He surely doesn’t know the real world.
On my God, what is going on?
My dead son is talking?
What? Is my son risen from the dead?
This man is really Jesus?
Has he raised the dead?
Jesus raided two from the dead.
The dead son and his mother.
I can raise the dead too
by blow the hope into the dead
Just like God blew the breath of life
into dust of the ground.
Rejecting her gesture and voice
without even letting my ego know,
hiding my gesture and voice
deep in my ego,
with boring spiritual lecture
as a background music,
seeing her over there in front
as the heroine in a movie,
I was a man swallowing a pain
In the dark movie theater
watching a movie with my lust.
It was fortunate
that I was not fallen
into her stealthy temptation
and I was not tricked by my own trap.
I almost forgot
that I was becoming a flower.
But I could try to compare
my pain of lust and desire
with the pain of Jesus on the cross.
The agony of Jesus
was not from flesh-piercing nails,
not from people’s merciless contempt,
but from the sugary temptation
of Mary Magdalene,
so even though I am dozing
on the hard chair in sanctuary,
my pain of not materializing the lust
is not less than the pain of Jesus.
A country girl is dreaming a preposterous dream.
Her life is entrusted to a poor carpenter,
but her mind is aiming at that higher place,
dreaming a cute dream of meeting God.
That’s why she is not surprised and just accepts
the words Angel Gabriel says, which is more
ridiculous than her dream,
because her body-soul-sprit has been brooding the Savior.
Fear of stoning death can’t kill her dream.
Scarlet letter can’t wound her dream.
She won’t regret her dream
despite her painful life of having God as her son.
She’ got the title of God’s mother
that is more humongous than her dream.
She and I are dreaming a dream
that is more absurd than any other dreams.
Do you ask who she is?
Whoever is dreaming an embarrassing dream
Is my ‘she’.
The man with banal look
was believed to a jewel in the mud,
so she committed her lift to him
and kept brushing the dirt
off during her entire whole life.
After many a decade,
The jewel turned out to be a poet.
Her look can’t be described even in this poem.
Is she trying to dismiss gold as common stone?
Or she is trying to take a small rock as a treasure?
It is fortunate
her brushing didn’t start earlier…
I can’t go to Mars
to test my luck for survival.
so I create Mars on this Earth
by sucking up all the oxygen,
by drying up all the water,
by throw myself far away from the Sun,
and by living in thick ugly mask.
After 15 years, I am still alive on Mars
without doing anything to survive;
by depending on pure luck.
No wonder that none-existent humans
call me Martian.
What a monumental non-effort!
Why don’t you take off your stuffy
space suit? Who knows? You
might find out you are human
by not dying and your fortune
can live without your helmet.
But I like Mars’ barren soils –
Its desolate deserts –
Its naked mountains –
Its muffled silence-
Its utter emptiness.
Well, you may need a different skin
on your face.