A Sheet of Blank Paper
A sheet of pure blank paper
is laid out like destiny;
on it, I would write my will or
confess my secret that I've hidden for a long time.
This night, a lamp light watches like a witness
and quietness covers all surroundings;
I sit in front of a sheet of blank paper like the last one
and look for a piece of a last word.
Outside the window it is December;
the north wind that sweeps away the season blows,
and a crescent moon that has waned,
half-hidden among the troubled clouds, goes wandering.
The mass of clouds that are covering the moonlight,
please move aside for a moment
and let me see the face of the moon!
This night, my mind is also a crescent moon
that has waned and is wandering among clouds.
on the sheet of paper that is still laid out and blank,
I can't draw your figure gum-mixed up;
on the story for a blank paper
where I forgot its beginning and ending,
only my broken crescent mind flickers like a candle.
In front of the destiny that is laid out like a horror story,
would I rather close my eyes?
The sheet of blank paper
would be left as a blank for good;
it doesn't look for the proper words for it to the last,
on it, only the black quietness crawls down.