Truth Like Poetry: 4

One. Why do I reach for the very thing
that can never be grasped?

When happiness comes,
why does sorrow follow
in far greater measure?

Why do I love the one
who cannot be kept in this life?

What strange rhythm governs existence...
that only misfortune
befalls me!

Two. When you smile,
dimples appear on your cheeks.
Seeing this, I think—
being alive isn't so bad!

Thinking of you
when I listen to songs,
when I read poetry,
when I watch movies,
I feel
life draws near to dream.

Three. Having no job,
I'm not asking for unemployment benefits.
But since I'm still alive,
I'm asking for life benefits.

This dying while living until death arrives—
won't the state compensate for this?

Four. A time will come
when you'll think of me and only think,
but be unable to tell anyone.

And this will happen every day.

When the time comes, check for yourself.

Five. Often, for long stretches,
everything around me causes me great pain, and
just then, someone within me whispers faintly:
Is there really any point in suffering like this all the time? Do something... just do something!

Each time I reply:
I know; I know this simple truth too. I'm trying... I'm trying so very hard!

Six. The world is such a strange place.

Here, dying brings no blame.
Here, living requires no virtue.

Those who don't want to return home
must go home first.
Those who wait to return home
never make it back.

Here, despair rehearses in the disguise of dreams.
Here, fate's gesture bears the full weight of a lifetime.

In the world's ledger, death is no event, merely a number.

Seven. Even
after all these years,
waking up,
for a long while
it doesn't occur to me
why you're not
beside me!

Some lights show their brightness
only after they've gone out.

Eight. I want to speak of my past.
"What's the point of dwelling on the past?"
I have no shortage of people in this life ready to offer me this simple wisdom.
I'm desperately searching for someone who will let me speak of things that serve no purpose to discuss.

I have many people eager to enlighten me.
I have no one willing to listen patiently.
Anyone without the patience to hear all my useless, stale stories from the past—I don't need their friendship.

Nine. Sometimes
there's nothing left for us to do but wait.
Despite all our running about, trying, drowning in regret—nothing works.
Then there's only one thing: to wait in silence.
It's hard work, very hard. But there's nothing else to be done.
Nothing happens before its time. No amount of effort gets us anything before its time—we don't even lose anything.
Tides don't come to rivers before their time, nor do they ebb before their time.
Everything in the world is like this.
Everyone must wait for the right moment. Kings must wait, beggars must wait.
Everything happens in its time. Not a moment before, not a moment after. This destiny is fixed for the happy, this destiny is fixed for the sorrowful.
When it's time to laugh, even wanting to cry brings no tears. When it's time to cry, even wanting to laugh brings no laughter.
Time is this world's only law, its only destiny.

Ten. One day
I wanted to write
what was in my mind.

After trying for a long time
I couldn't write anything;
the paper remained blank.

That day
I had written
what was in my mind.

Eleven. Sometimes
I forget
you're not here today.

Walking home
all day long
I keep waiting
for when I'll reach home
and tell you
everything that happened.

After returning
to our empty house,
I remember
you're not here today.

Age advances,
yet
you don't diminish.

Twelve. I know
you've gone away
and will never
return.

Still,
in crowds of people
I search only for you.

Again and again I feel
surely now
you'll see me
and burst into laughter
just like the old days...

Whatever smiles
cling to my lips—
they're all you.

Even today,
to stay alive
I need only you.

In this life, you alone
are greater than time itself!

Thirteen. Days come in life
when smiling hurts,
getting out of bed hurts,
eating hurts,
even sleeping hurts.

And
days will come in life
when remembering those painful days
will bring satisfied smiles,
when the magic of being alive
will make you want to believe.

Fourteen. I am a strange person.
I always end up somewhere in the middle...

I want to hide myself away;
yet I also want everyone to see me.

Uncertain journeys draw me;
yet whatever is unburdened also binds me.

I want to abandon everything and be free,
yet I remain rooted by the pull of home.

I am that river that changes direction moment by moment;
yet you'll find me too in the current that crashes against some faithful shore.

I am that clock hand that keeps turning all life long;
yet I'm also that clock that bears time forward on steady shoulders.

Fifteen. She learned all my mind's secret words, one by one.

She silently witnessed
my pains,
my wounds,
my mistakes.

Then
she left me alone and went away.

Sixteen. Perhaps sorrow isn't so terrible after all.
This sorrow is an eternal bridge between love and suffering.

People grieve only thinking of those
without whom living becomes very hard.
Who grieves thinking of someone
whose presence or absence makes no difference?

If it's true
that when we think of our beloved
we feel sorrow, then
that small pain can surely be accepted with a smile.

Seventeen. All that has been lost.
Whatever blows have come.
Post-mortem memorial services.
All the bustle and commotion.
Sudden silence and the loneliness that follows.
Wherever misunderstandings lie.
All the desire to make peace with life.
This sense that the world remains the world, whatever happens.
This dream that someday these nightmares will end.
This feeling that those who leave are lost forever.
Some deep suffering, some intimate agony.
Daily searching for the beloved person.
Fear devoted to unfamiliar time.
Questions that have no answers.
Being alone even in crowds.
Endless attempts to convince oneself.
The sulking of one whom no one in this world understands, hiding himself away.

All this is called sorrow.

Eighteen. I'm not someone you can rely on.
I'm always running late.
Everything about me is terribly messy.
I feel like crying all the time.
Even after thinking for ages, I can't reach any decision.

I get angry for such reasons
that you probably won't understand...
How could you? I don't understand myself!

I am lost.
The person inside me is dead today.
I don't dare stand before mirrors anymore, because even mirrors lie to me.

Tell me, is this even life?
If you say this is nothing but sorrow,
then know this: yes, I look exactly like sorrow!

If you can't accept me just as I am,
then never come near me claiming love.

Nineteen. If you only knew
how much tenderness
threads through everything I do!

The smallest task
I perform;
the smallest word
I speak;
things utterly trivial,
utterly ordinary—
in all of this
you linger somewhere!

If you only knew
wherever I go,
how lovingly I carry you with me!

Twenty. All that I think
and feel about you—
I truly don't know what to do with it, where to go.

No one ever taught me
how to hide an ocean
beneath my own skin
in place of blood.

Until today, no one ever told me
that to love means to drown.