Of Woman Bondage

a woman jogging in a park;
smell of sweat mingled with
smell of perfume bought in a dollar store.
(i don’t have a nose for perfume though)
a woman with thick make-up
who’s just given birth to a baby.
(a rumor, but it might be true)
a feminist woman waiting for a man
to open the door for her.
(…..)
actresses in a TV show
who can’t be told who’s who.
(i don’t have good eyes though)
my wife sleeping by me
is the only woman with bare face?
(only if wife is a woman too)

of woman bondage that brings back
the memories of lust to men
with fake face and the make-up
as thick as pig skin

Cheap Chocolate

I ate the chocolate she gave me just like a frog snatching a dung fly,
which created a small hell in my stomach.
Perhaps it was a no-name cheap chocolate.
In fact, would she have given you a Godiva?
Just like you shouldn’t pick up and eat a chocolate lying on the street,
you get into trouble if you jump at things a woman gives you.
Thanks to that stomach discomfort, chocolate grabbed my attention.
I’ve found out that Godiva is not No. 1 in the world!
Ah! There will a time that I give a Teuscher as a birthday present
to a beautiful woman who loves brand-name chocolate, sweet things like me.
But I won’t give a cheap chocolate that causes stomach trouble
to a woman I hate, even though she is a sheer bitch.
However, if the thought that even cheap chocolate should be given is sad,
my mindset of no-giving-no-taking would be happy?
Because of stomachache from a cheap chocolate,
This excreta has been created.
Believe it or not, sometimes dog poop is used as medicine,
so cheap useless stuff would be worthwhile.
But, I wonder what this excretion can be used for…

A Man Who Insulted Women (John 8:1-11)

Being dragged by women with plenty of lechery,
He was thrown in front of a man called Jesus,
who asked what this was about. This man insulted
us. He seduced us with moist poems full of sultry
words. He poured ‘I love you’ like a shower in a hot
summer afternoon and let our curve be exposed
and have us dream of Heaven. He just watched
without even trying to dry up our revealed bodies
and thus left us in this empty lonely wilderness.
How can we make up for this insult? We tried
to punish this man with stones. Jesus, writing
something on the ground, breaks silence.
Whoever among you doesn’t have lust stone
him. At his words, from old hag to young girl,
they discard stone of hate and leave. Jesus
to the man, where are those women who judge
you? I won’t judge you either. As a man myself,
I understand you, but do not see a woman
as a flower from now on. In Heaven, anything
will be more beautiful than flowers. Jesus words
– ‘I won’t judge you’ – how scary punishment
It is! A butterfly that was robbed of flowers
–  wouldn’t it be a heroic death like a martyrdom
of Stephen if I rather were stoned to death?

Woman with No Tears

She doesn’t have tears, I hear;
She can’t weep when dumped by a man.
So she used to kick man away first.
Giggling at the man holding his stick in agony,
She comforted her sorrow
that she couldn’t shed tears.

Alas! She can’t dump me, though;
In spite of those many crappy days together.
She might be humiliated by not being able to cry
If deserted by me.
She can’t enjoy throwing me away
She can’t do anything about loving somebody.

She says she doesn’t need tears.
She weeps with her whole body.
She sheds tears through her feeble flesh.
Tears doesn’t come out only from eyes, I should say
Shedding tears is not the same as weeping, is it?
She is always sobbing even without tears.

In this way, I am stuck in her,
since I can’t make her weep;
woman who can’t shed her tears….

Night Fog

i read a poem
as if walking in a thick fog
in my dark room.
i read a poem
written by a woman
whose mind even God wouldn’t know.
i put out the dim candle light in the room;
i read a poem
without caring where this invisible road
in the night fog leads to.

with this feeling in the fog as it is
with this dark feeling as it is
i write a poem.
in order for the woman who loves me
to get lost in the night fog;
nah, she wouldn’t even look for a road.
i write a poem.
in order for her
to feel my small breath
to feel my shaking hands
to feel my bitter yearning
in the deep darkness
where even a single firefly
is not allowed,
i write a poem.

Mother of God

God envied people He created; they had mothers.
The Creator rushed down from Heaven devoid of Mother
to the Created on the Earth full of mothers.

God found a shy little girl called Mary
In a remote hamlet, a humongous cage.
Would you be my mother, red canary?
God danced when she sang YES onstage.

God flung the door open and Mary fluttered out of the cage.
He shouted like a thunder; now I have my own mother!

God was becoming a human inside a tender body.
God was becoming a boy with sweet milk of a woman.
He became a man under the tiny wings of a feeble lady.
He became a son of the most elegant human.

God whispered; I love you, Mother!

Poor Mary returned back God’s gargantuan love lavishly!
She made God smile by keep everything deep in her nous.
She made God not to abandon hope for humans easily
by crouching down at the foot of the Cross.

God who created mothers came to know;
mother’s bosom as vast as Heaven,
mother’s love deeper than the deepest well,
mother’s sacrifice beautiful only to the eyes of God,
mother’s suffering allowed only to mothers.

God wanted to magnify mother’s love dearly
by wiping Eve’s stain off Mary’s feathers
by re-creating Mary’s body lest it would rot vainly
by crowning her as Queen of Heaven and Earth
with a wreath highlighted by plenty of white roses.

Now I envy God;
He has the most beautiful Mother!

Yet God glorified us; here is your mother,
He pleased his Mother; here are your children,
while dying on the Cross; so concrete.
That’s God’s love; so complete.

Holy Mary, Mother of the Absolute.
How dare can we call you our mother?
Your son was nailed on the Cross by the resolute.
How can your son be our brother?

Now we have the most wonderful Mother.
She gives us her little love that raised God,
She feeds us her plentiful milk that fed God,
She leads us with her endurance that sustained God.

Mary has shrunken to become my little mother.
Mother of the Almighty has become plain mother of mine.
She willingly has become the mother of this miserable debtor.
She is having a happy life in Heaven with God in shine,
but she flies down to this world to raise us, to raise me.

Mother of God’s; Mother of ours; Mother of mine
Mother, Mother, Mother….

What’s going on, my son? Mary is your mother?!
Mom, she’s your mother too…
Nothing would matter, wouldn’t it, mom?

I crown the mother of my ducklings
as Queen of my Family
with a wreath adorned with wild flowers
and twigs delivered by cardinals.

Woman’s Life

In her teens, she was full of curiosity about that.
In her twenties, she knew what that was.
In her thirties, she enjoyed that.
In her forties, she badgered about that.
In her fifties, she bought that.
In her sixties, she prayed for that.
In her seventies, she forgot what that was.
In her eighties, she didn’t know what they were talking about.
In her nineties, nothing mattered.

I can’t satisfy her curiosity.
I got nothing to let her know.
I can’t quench her joy.
I can’t give her desire a disappointment.
I am not for sale.
I am not an answer for her prayer.
I don’t want to remind her of that thing.
I don’t have to tell her what they were talking about.
We are just staring at each other blankly.
Nothing matters.

Woman’s life?
Man’s life….