I should’ve passed by
just waving my hands.
A wobbling flower snooping around her.
Butterfly’s reluctant nodding.
Where is yesterday’s bright smile?
I forgot that I would be a flower?
I didn’t know I just have to blow scent?
That is why I am still going.
Not sure I am really taking roots.
It wouldn’t easy for a butterfly to become a flower.
Why is it trying to be a flower?
I was just staying in this spot.
It was the butterfly that flew to me.
Making her a butterfly like this,
and becoming a pretty-blossomed flower,
and finishing this childish serial poetry,
And spreading the wings hidden,
let’s go to the rose garden.
Well, no! Wait a little bit more.
Who know I might really become a flower?!
I hear you guys are close. True?
What is ‘A man and a woman are close’?
Do I feel jealousy in her tone?
Close? Not at all.
I don’t look like I am lying,
but where is my hidden smile coming from?
Suddenly I miss her
who’s not in front of my eyes.
I miss you dearly.
A joke-like outcry thrown in public.
A pollen flown awkwardly before Spring has come.
As women’s suspicious glances become the spring breeze
and makes my heart pounding,
this flower will root deeper?
The lyric of a pop song is now my song.
I am trying to sink my root deeper in order to be a flower.
How can I dance trying to get closer to her?
If only I could just watch her.
If only she won’t vanish in the morning fog.
She would give up becoming a butterfly
so as to remain a flower for me.
Then we are a couple of flowers
gazing at each other, hiding our desires.
It might be a beautiful picture.
But rather would we be happy
if we are plucked together and
being withered in the tap water of the vase?
Would we be happy
if only we could just watch each other
and feel good as we are?
It’s a big tree
with its root like a strip of grass.
How the root endures that big frame is a mystery…
A little bird lands and sings a beautiful song.
A ray of jealousy hits the big tree.
The little bird boasting of its colorful feather
jumps around the wobbling twigs.
The gorgeous look of the bird brings
a shadow of despair that darkens the big tree.
The little bird,
its struggle to settle down on the big tree,
its singing to hurl jealousy to other birds.
The tree is aware of this or not?
the little bird that cherishes an ambition
bigger than the tree, which tries to carry
the big tree in its bosom.
The root of the big tree
digs deeper in the ground.
I told her to be a bird,
then she’d become
a little bird in front of me
and asked me to be
a big tree for her.
So I’d become a tree.
That little bird is snooping around
for a place to sit
on the tree
where birds of all different colors
are enjoying noisy chatter.
You are trying to sit
on the highest branch
but might fall on the ground
from the wobbling branch
because you have big breasts
even though your wings are small.
Why don’t you sit
on the thickest branch safely
and try to listen of the pulse
coming from the deep deep
root of the big tree.