A Martian

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.


A flower that never stopped twisting
its whole body according to the flapping
of a butterfly or dung fly in a garden,

as if a sunflower kept turning its neck
toward the Sun; Feeling sorry for the
flower, when the butterfly or dung fly

stops flapping and lands on the flower,
the flower or butterfly-eater looks dead
or sleeping just like a sunflower that lost

the Sun in dark night. How fortunate that
this flower or butterfly-eater is not a
carnivorous plant.  Even sitting on the

flower, the butterfly or dung fly is wondering
if this flower really is a sunflower; Yeah,
the flapping of the fly would never stop.

The Empty Tomb

When the night flees
With a piercing shriek in the throes of death
After catching the sight of sun’s thin fingernails,
She, fearless because of being in deep love,
To the graveyard.
She, a fool who believes the rumor that
Jesus will be alive again,
To the tomb where Jesus is buried.

The huge stone that only Goliath could move
Has been removed.
The tomb is empty and
Filled with scent of Jesus
With Jesus’ body nowhere in sight.
“The rumor was true!”
Her belief has been verified
Just like this.

When the fresh sun
Delivers the news of resurrection
To each tomb one by one
Like a paper boy,
The man who is walking down ahead
Showing his back to the tomb,
Is he the Lord?

“Thank you, my Lord!”
She, getting rained on
With the streaming-down sunlight and
Wiping Jesus’ five wounds joyfully
With her sizzling tears.

Whose blessing will be the empty tomb?