She, pretty attractive, approached me.
Please, come back to our team!
I, pretty determined, snapped.
No way! My voice is too old.
She, pretty resolute, didn’t step back.
My voice is too old too.
I, pretty satisfied, shook my head.
She, pretty disappointed, showed her back.
She, pretty persistent, suddenly turned around.
What could possibly change your mind?
I, pretty perplexed, shrugged my shoulders.
If I said
I want you,
How would’ve she responded?
If she said
Do you want me?
How should’ve I responded?
If I join the team
With her in my pocket,
What would happen to the team?
I was ridiculously happy
In Sunday morning
Waiting for the holy Mass
Sitting at the very last pew.
A gorgeous doe is standing unscathed.
A hunter is standing friendly with it.
A handsome rifle without bullets is in his right hand.
That doe doesn’t have to be killed.
Ever heard of a hunter who is just looking on?
He doesn’t plunge into despair, though.
Rather, he cheers for the beautiful animals in the forest.
He won’t kill and possess them.
He plays with them.
Who could call him a hunter?
He believes he is a hunter, nonetheless.
A hunter who catches only she animals
that will be grilled in his dreams.
While the title sounds a bit cheesy,
I should say her mind would be cheesier.
That’s why cheesy pop songs strike our heartstrings.
Good cheesy title for November…
I like cheese so won’t matter.
“I am here.” Her mind wants to speak,
hiding behind a tree,
having no choice but to gaze,
being buried in the silence hinting at farewell,
after she stops her beautiful gesture of her hands.
A woman with many regrets
who can’t cry even with pain
and can’t look back at me
when she is hit by a rock thrown by me.
‘Cause she knows if our eyes bump into each other,
There would be no turning back.
“If I could spend my last moment in your bosom…”
How fortunate that my bosom can hold only one woman!
My mind embosoms many women just like a king, though.
While I am seeing myself becoming cornier as I grow older
And enjoying rapture from tearing decades-old nobleness off myself,
I let go of another woman I created.
I am talking about the apple, but
she is talking about the orange.
I don’t argue.
To avoid my claw,
she seems to be hiding in her own deep site.
“We are talking about the fruit.”
I will hold on these words until
my claw splits her spirit into pieces and
her voice of curse cuts my spirit in half.
“What are you pondering over?”
“I am thinking about the orange.”
The apple becomes the orange and
my claw that is now no threat to her is
disappearing furtively and is
waiting for the next opportunity.
“Uh?! You claw has gone!”
Was she looking at the apple too?