Coming Spring

Thinking of the spring day nearing,
I pass the long, dreary winter days.
Today, on the stretched limbs of an aspen,
a white bird perches and chirps.

Under a ridge of that snow-blanketed field,
is it a shadow, or a fog, or a spring mist?
Here and there, the small villages, with no movement,
lie tranquil under their portion of sky.

Magpies are chattering to birds–
crows crowing, facing the ocean–
The sounds of chimes and bells, nearing–
perhaps, a funeral procession for a young maiden.

Look! How hesitant the passersby–
the aimless steps going, yet not knowing where–
Though the raining tears are endless,
looking at the sky is a joy of living.

One’s own loneliness, its deep anguish,
the foggy faltering–whether to come or to go–
Today, each one of us has lost our beloved,
and not being able to hold our own place is our sorrow.

The sound of the waited-for spring coming–
the tingling feeling in my thin fingertips–
Under the wayside bushes, the nestled strands of hair,
at each step, grab my ankles fretfully.