DRIZZLE

The gentle rain touches my face,

It falls on my hair like dew,

Shining at the tender night,

The tender drizzle slips between the green leaves.

I’m standing in front of the trees

Feeling the drizzle fall to the ground gently.

I try to pursue the past dreams,

But where are they?

They’ve disappeared beneath the trees.

The leaves are talking lightly,

I tend to participate,

Yet I find no way.

I’m locked outside,

I’m lost in the rain.

Who am I?

I don’t know.

Just the spring, gentle rain

Falls on my shoulders and hair

Like dew shining at the tender night.

I love to be lost in the rain;

I love to be wet with rain;

I love to be alone in the rain;

I love to be walking in the rain;

I love to be melted in the rain;

I love to be a drop of spring rain.

                        June, 1993

Note: At that time I didn’t get out of my sorrow.