Wind, you really give up so easily.
One evening a little while back you roared
knocking, knocking at the windows and the next day
the whole world was piled with fallen leaves
as the wind waved an elderly hand
from that lofty sky above.
Your voice is a chill in the spine,
the monotonous dream of a winter tree sleeping.
Really, you endure so easily.
Breathing in unseen places,
light snow falling quite without warning
your skin the back surface of deepest winter,
something that cannot be real,
wind, that I sometimes feel happened in the past.
Chonggi Mah (born 1939) South Korea
Translated by Brother Anthony of Taizé
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