Before the Sun

 
One.
We cry sometimes—
this doesn't mean we are weak.

We don't always smile—
this doesn't mean we aren't happy.

We dream often—
this doesn't mean we can't see reality.

We love too much—
this doesn't mean we want to be hurt.

We fall silent at times—
this doesn't mean we don't know what to say.

We sometimes want to die—
this doesn't mean we've forgotten how to live.

Two.
When spring has passed,
when the flower has withered, even then
remember that friend from your school years
who once shared his lunch with you
the day you forgot to bring yours.

Three.
When I'm drowning in sorrow, when I feel terrible,
I run to that country
where I've kept myself waiting. There,
I sit before a fire with a glass of whiskey in hand.
I watch the flames tremble so slowly. The warm air trembles too.
Sometimes I wake, and the weariness of waiting settles on my body.

Four.
Love will take us to that country
where only we will exist, by our own rules,
where we won't need to understand what happens...
The desire to go there is never fulfilled in one lifetime.

To see how much we can endure,
we must go deeper into life.
How much more suffering will we bear?
I can't live this way anymore!
I want to hear of at least one dream that came true!

Crying hurts the eyes, and then
wiping away tears wounds the cheek.
My heart keeps burning. When I realize I'm someone else today,
I feel pain in my soul, knowing there's no one worse than me
yet having to stay alive. What could be more painful than this?

Five.
When time's end draws near,
thick darkness blocks our vision,
life abandons us,
leaving only the body waiting to be buried—
then I met a dark-skinned man
who called me, let me come close.
He was alone because he wanted someone beside him
whom he didn't know. As I went to deny life,
laughing, I suddenly fell... I fell,
didn't get back up, and so came alive again.

Six.
Seeing the pure white rain outside the window,
I think of going back again. The next moment I think
rather than speaking of leaving this place,
it would be better to hide in the dark forest.
I don't want to come out of hiding—
there lies my freedom from life.
No one else will find me!
For now... farewell.

Seven.
Though the pages of life's book still carry that raw scent,
all the black words upon them—
I've begun to think of them as my lessons.
After much effort those lines have returned
that twist between fingers all the bloodstains in other directions,
destroying whatever text exists. By accident I—
begin to believe even in dreams,
learn to think of anxiety as small,
assume friendship to be eternal,
when love or anything else doesn't remain,
I still make myself my own companion.

Eight.
Sometimes memory serves us well.
Beloved heart... secret mysteries... precious words... gestures... magnificent kisses... someone's eyes... someone's tears...
They quietly open doors.
We see these things, walk while saving our tears, gently touch the accumulated treasure.

Nine.
Life is like a winding road—long and unknown.
Here we must live in times sometimes cruel, sometimes kind.
Life is sometimes like love—sweet, sour, or bitter. Sometimes
staying with loved ones through experiences of joy and pain,
or not staying, going through some difficult tests,
even passing a few, unexpectedly!

Ten.
I've been feeling lonely for so long now.
Why does losing someone cause such damage?
Why does the inside feel empty then?
Why do people lose the very ones they love?
Why can't it be that we can stay
with the one we love for the rest of our lives?

Eleven.
Sometimes wind comes and carries away
some sorrow, with a warm breath
the body grows warm again,
and all troubles drift away.
Thanks to the wind that I'm still alive today.

Sometimes rain beats on glass.
Wet grass glitters with water drops,
making it easy to cover tears,
thanks to rain for arranging to hide our weeping.

Sometimes the sun, in search of summer,
colors something again, leads the wind
on paths of light, setting flowers ablaze.
Thanks to the sun for such colors in flowers.

Twelve.
The snail had gone along the park path.
They sat on the bench with their eyes wide open
and lost themselves in the crowd.
For them, finding themselves was necessary.
Then what should have happened, didn't.
I know why they ran away even amid the screaming—
because the snail had returned.

A giant passes through an alley
where roosters crow, crows flee.
That crowing could be song,
the fleeing could well be return.
Both were distasteful to him
because he was from another alley.

When the rooster jumped in fear,
everyone said, what a beautiful hen!

Behind the mountain, in the shadow of clouds,
garlic grows instead of onions.
After the boy kisses her,
onions will sprout there.