"The Gates

At the declining moment
It rains on the chilly street.

In front of my existence prepared like a fate,
All gates are closed.

Now in the imminent zone
Which is beyond my power,
I knock at the gate impatiently.

But the gate is not opened.
Numberless wounds in my breast,
These seem to be too much mischievous.

Perhaps our human
May knock in vain, through their lives,
At the gates that never be opened.

The shed blood blooms in reeds.
The bloomed reeds, weeping in the wind, will leave
When the bloomed reeds, in tears, fall.

The people, in front of the gates,
Being wet in rain, waited long
And ten thousand years more in vain.

I'm also standing here in tears."

--Gûm-czan Hwang

Listening to: Vanessa Carlton.