When death comes

October 23, 2007
By Hyemin Sun, Culver, IN

When death comes
like a saffron blooms;
When death comes and takes sweet scent away,

The saffron begins to fall
with the wind of autumn.
When death comes
like a bamboo branches in the fountain;

When death comes
like swift and lilting tango music,

I want to swirl myself into
rhythms of tango music and
leave myself to sense innate feelings.

And I therefore I look upon everything
as a bunch of mixed lavender and orchid,
and I try to feel the freshness
and cold, wet dew on the grass.

And I think of each nature as a gift,
as an appreciation, and a warning of life.

And each cedar builds a house for me
anywhere in the forest
so that I can take a nap.

And each canyon brings flowing water for me
near my cedar house
so that I can take an ample sip.

When it’s over, I want to say:
I was a part of nature and
I was worth powder and shot to live my life
with beauty of nature.
I will yearn for a gift of splendid gifts.

When it’s over, I don’t want to grieve.

I don’t want to think I am no longer part of nature
or I am done with my life.
I will assume that I will turn into
small basic part of nature.

I don’t want to leave the cycle of nature sequences
just because I am not belong to
the human body that I was to once.

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