Trying to shake off concern

Solitude is sometimes more melancholy than a dog's faithfulness.
A song in the wrong key, one that only summons weightless despair, or
that flower in the pot, standing beyond the window for hundreds of hours without water—
loneliness doesn't keep such close watch.


Though the garden behind the glass had been soaked for days in steady heavy rain,
still I unfold myself slowly with careful uncertainty, and just like that I shake off
an ugly indifference. Even now I mistakenly think, when I pull
my helpless head back from my cottage once more, what harm could it do,
and if it does, won't the new wound land right on top of the old one!


Looking into their eyes, I feel quite safe.
I want to walk the path of hope like them, but I lack faith so badly,
so many unbearable memories still possess me, perhaps that's why
my insides tremble constantly with pride and anxiety.


A little hidden away, I've kept some dreams and plans for myself, but
where they'll end up, or whether they'll end at all,
I remain as doubtful as on the first day.
I'm casting away my feelings and emotions with timely prudence,
because this much is certain—rather than going through certain traumas,
it's far more peaceful to sit powerless or return to solitude.