You Are Free

You are not Koreans to me,
you who bicycle by the stream,
you who jog by the stream
or walk your dogs by the stream,
the April sun, wide-eyed, on its knees,
the wind stirring cherry blossom trees.
I cannot grasp you or categorize
that sliver I catch sight of in your eyes.
Whatever be your hardships endured,
whatever be your shadows stretching
from the light of unrealized goals,
you remain to me the festival of souls
that brings the April sun to its knees,
a freedom but hinted at by the breeze.

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