happiness sets us free alone.

what you want to write
don't write it
also
don't give up

what you don't want to write
do write
but
give up

what you give up
surviving
what you don't want to write
writing it becomes poetry.

everybody
whispering

friends or strangers
all together
just can't pass by
say hello with eyes

“Spring is coming”

a time
I look up
standing you there
really
looking at me

everyone
whispering.

spring-colored flowers bloom
spring-colored earth blooms
spring-colored air blooms
spring-colored mountains bloom
spring-colored human
dance.

is true love
only true tears
nothing is Easy
No overflowing glasses
No love that doesn't hurt
No hat, no coat, no socks
No ***** nails, no shoes with holes in them
Nothing that doesn't hurt
even if no one comes to talk to you
No loneliness or pain
so it can be painful
today, precious day
money can't buy it
another tomorrow
another past
If you hold Van Gogh's hand.

buildings
scratching the sky

cars
scratching the asphalt

I
I am scratching your heart.

That warm wind
That warm tree branches
That warm wooden steps
That warm grass leaves
That warm shadows
That warm home scenes
That warm stick pencils
And
If you write poetry
with a red pen on a cold table
In the blank sheet of paper
What luxury on earth would i envy?

There is nothing else!