The Scribbles of a Lonely Traveller

Flowers are most enthralling
when they're blooming,
yet they're spent
even before you lament
in a remote mountain village.
To the best of my knowledge,
we're all flecked,
no more perfect
than this imperfect universe.
The errors we made on impulse
when being silly
have turned out to be
eternal tears of sorrow.
Nonetheless,
we have to let go
of our past frivolousness
and foolishness
as long as we're still breathing.
We must discard this rusted leaf
if we're still hoping
to turn over a new leaf.

Revised Version

Wandering down a country path,
I stop by a newly harvested rice paddy
with strewing straws
bathing blissfully
in the winter sun.
Not far away,
several sparrows are chitchatting
like lively noisy lasses.
I guess
they're not talking about me
behind my back,
for I'm not a straw man,
nor will I scare them away
when they're enjoying
those scattered grains.
How can I explain to them?
I'm lying here
simply to savor the delightful sunshine
along with the gentle caress
of the January breeze.
I couldn't care less
if they think of me as a lazy idler,
idling away the golden day
this way,
for I'm not a go-getter
and never take a fancy
to becoming an oil tycoon.
All I need is peace and harmony
on this quiet afternoon.

Revised Version

Since you went away
with April rain,
my garden has virtually turned into a wasteland.
Empty whisky bottles are enough to make a small island,
yet this sorrow of mine is still here to stay.
If you don't mind,
could you lend me a smile
so that I could bury it in my barren land?
And wish in a little while,
it might grow into an oasis of sunflowers
on my wasteland.


Revised Version

Your innocent smile,
still kept in my heart for a long while,
was a forget-me-not in full swing
that I fell for last spring.
Missing the faint fragrance
you sent off in the air dripping with romance,
I kept wasting away
and my hair turning gray.
But it doesn't really matter now,
for I see a smile somehow
on every petal of a blue forget-me-not
that I pined for a lot.



Revised Version

Just as you're a pretty fish
swimming in a tropical paradise
in spring,
so am I the sentimental
evening glow
mixing all the gorgeous colors
of life
in the western sky
in autumn.
Since it's next to impossible
for spring and autumn to get together
in real life,
it was really a wistful error
that we should have known each other.
If beauty can't last any longer
than all the flowers in summer,
why don't we
treasure it in our sweet memory
until the twelfth of never?

Revised Version

Gusty Wind,
I want to thank you
a million
for ceasing to be a villain
even before midnight.
Now I guess
I can lie down and sleep tight.
Nonetheless,
faced with the huge waves
of emotion
you stirred up
in the ocean of my mind,
I simply have no idea
how to calm down,
not to mention
enjoying a peaceful night.

Revised Version

Waiting for you in December
in the icy cold winter,
I don't really appreciate ruthless weather
in the slightest.
Though not being the brightest,
I'm still able to reason.
If you don't show up this season
as always,
I couldn't care less,
for I've forgotten the way you look,
and the reason
why I fell in love with a brook
instead of your poetry book.


Revised Version

Suppose spring is a poem,
a most mesmerizing poem,
then I won't bother
or go any farther
to anatomize its beauty
because it's not a laureate's duty.
All I need to do is relax
while lying in green grass,
savoring the most fragrant wine
and basking in sunshine.


Revised Version

Alcohol tastes bitter,
but life tastes even more bitter.
That's why I'm ready
to get tipsy
whenever there're whisky.
Roses are thorny,
but why do I miss you like crazy?
Here is the reason why
if you care to read my rhyme:
from time to time,
being pricked feels much better,
compared with being lonely.


Revised Version

After a rich meal,
if you ask me how I feel,
my eyelids are leaden
with stones and feel pain,
and my body heavy
as an overloaded airplane.
Seeing that my muse has left me,
vanishing in a puff of smoke,
is it not a silly joke
that I still hope I can pen poetry
and wish it'd be ethereal
as well as surreal?


Revised Version

Suppose I were you,
I'd rather
appreciate the beautiful view
of a long and meandering river.
However,
If you're talking
about the life's journey,
I wish mine would be uncurving
and easy.
Maybe,
it'll take me my whole life
to see the true beauty of a life
that's full of suffering,
for I'm not so wise as you.

For a couple of days,
the spring rain has come back
from a long journey,
and is lingering over the view.
All the trees are sprouting
and little birds chirping.
The sleepy land seems to be waking up
from its deep winter slumber,
whereas,
when and how
will the seed inside me
begin to bud
since you're still nowhere to be found.

Revised Version

Without a reason,
I dreamed of you again
last night.
Without a reason,
you lost your dear parents
as a kid
and never had a chance
to go to school
to learn how to read and write,
yet your heart was pure
and beautiful as Mother Nature.
Without a reason,
you were full of love
when you had your family
though you were a struggling farmer
all your life.
Without a reason,
you moved to heaven
many years ago,
yet I still come across you
once in a while
in my dreams.

Revised Version

My dear friend, Sol,
I try hard to recall.
Yes, you’re a pretty yellow rose,
and it’ll absolutely be a great loss
for those guys
who don’t even have a chance
to savor your sweet fragrance
especially when the love affair
is still slumbering in the icy cold air.
I only dare to dream
to hold you tight in my dream,
for I fear this poor heart of mine
will skip a beat time after time
if the dream comes true.
Therefore, it's better that I admire you
at a distance
and praise your charm
in my poem
rather than have a date
if you're truly my soul mate.

Revised Version

:)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY