Wondering why the sorrow which falls

   deep in the heart

Doesn’t make noise, as well as snow

   doesn’t.

And driving like a madman with lights

   off at night

Just to see whether dying is so difficult.

Tightening my hands to stop

Something that is inside my mind

But not inside yours.

You cannot understand

You may call them emotions

You may call them emotions

Walking in the heath at dawn

When fog hides the next step

   in front of you

To retrieve yourself.

Nattering to a fisherman

For hours and hours

just to remove the feeling

That something inside you is dying.

And covering a green seedling

   with soil

Hoping that some day a red rose

   may spring up

And punching a man only

Because he was a bit rude

Knowing that you aren’t burning

Because of his insults

And closing my eyes to fix

Something that is inside me

But not inside your mind.

You can’t understand

You may call them emotions

You may call them emotions

Looking at a heron above the river and then

Finding yourself flying.

Lying down happy on the grass to feel

A feeble sorrow.

And at night looking through the hill

To discover where the sun sets to sleep.