From Seventy to Seven: A Dialogue with the Monsoon Rain,, Korean poem, Korean life, Korean culture

From Seventy to Seven: A Dialogue with the Monsoon Rain The monsoon rain and I, side by side, Strike up our morning chat about life. How could there be no regrets? Yet, I gently turn them into peace of mind. The parade of fools marches on, Splashing dirty water as they go. But my old towers of resentment, anger, and despair Are now just a distant fire across the river. After all, they were just fleeting moments of being alive. When society yells, "This is right!" My seventy-year-old self whispers, "No, it's not." When the church shouts, "That is wrong!" I smile and murmur, "Yes, it is." Good and evil, sacred and profane— They have already been sent to the museum. While diversity and the infinite boundless roam free, What is truth, and what is salvation anyway? Looking out at the heavy rain today, I just let out a bitter, quiet smile. It would be nice if parallel worlds or multiverses existed, But that, too, is just a fleeting dream. Just as Homo erectus once walked this earth, We, too, will pass by like a brush of wind. Now, I wonder where my childhood heart has hidden. I think I'll go and look for it.