raining inside heart

she walks with her barefoot, across the streets and bridges
under the sky, she finds an abandoned garden
sit there, she remembers some pieces of bittersweet memories
whispers to herself, “not bad, isn’t it?”

for all the experiences,
chances she’d taken, failed or succeeded
chances she’d not taken, regretted or grateful
let them go, one by one

how spacious she must build a house for herself
to save all her belongings
how far she must go
to see the world
how deep she must dig
to bury all her sorrows
how long she must wait the rain to stop
inside her heart, it is raining as well.

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in front of the hell’s gate

because you said it.
so i keep it in mind lightly…

so i listen to it.
feels so close to the hell’s gate.
right in front of it,
i feel no fear.

it has no adequate light,
it is cool but not cold
it is unbright but no dust, no dirt
it is gloom, but i’m calm

there is no sound, no any beings what-so-over
surrounded by unfamiliarities, tranquil and static

how long should i stay here
can i be forever, could not i leave as i like ?

i create an imaginary view through the chants,
i do not remember my previous lives, so i consider those are merely a belief
i do not expect a next life, if repetitive laughters and sadness keep occuring,
so, just here, in front of the hell’s gate is just fine.

it is personal, not alone.

there are times
i really just want to be alone.
i think…most times.

i often daydreaming
living in a secluded place, remote area,
safe, sound, the air is clean and vegetation is pure.

or else,
as if i’m looking at the vast night sky,
no boundaries, infinite darkness

and then, i keep all for myself,
death is like bringing nothing to a great rocky desert of mourning
while alive is like walking under the burning sun of desires.

all for myself,
karma bearer of its own maker,
be happy, you, a free and selfless soul.