The flame will not die.
I pursue the path of smoke
the virtue of suffering gives the pure light.
The book knows my inside truth and tells no one.
I weep for the swallows,
I could not feed.
I lay one white stone for each death.
You will scatter my ashes,
in the abandoned land where silence walks
and words lie like microcosm of contemporary hunger.
Life was a cupful of tears.
The voices always spilled challenging the fidelity of flowing water.
The living legend turns in grave,
I pray for peace I promised myself
to stand erect when the quake comes.
I will save the flora and the grass of dying earth.
I ask for one more life to clear the debt and bleach my guilt.
