Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Conor O'Reilly writes

In the Park in Beijing

In the park in Beijing,
I'm watching water
Spurt from sprinklers
On the young plants,
And an elderly man
Stretching as if he were
Worshiping divinity.
Then, a single cicada
Sang for the first time
Since I left Seoul.

In the park in Beijing,
Couples casually carouse by,
Smiling into their eyes shaded
By the weeping willows tears,
Or curling on benches in arms,
As a breeze unsettles perfect hair.
But I am in tatters from my gale
Of regret gusting too strong.

In the park in Beijing
Gondolas repetitively glide by,
Like the flow of the unambiguous Han.
I can see what I left behind,
That cicada helped to remind me.
This tranquility is a sideshow,
I should have always known
It was naïve to have left Seoul.


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