Lonely rivers do not grieve
but flow to mother sea.
The lonely life that I must leave
conspires to set me free.
The river passes by a brook
and takes its living there
and does not lend a backward look
and has no sense to care.
A river and a man are one
and go the way they must.
When eulogy is said and done
the waters are a trust.
A borrowed soul will bless the sand
collected at the sea;
the skeletal remains of man
are setting fishes free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem