By Sochanphy Chilhang
Each season carries a name
A pain drowned in deep grief and loss
Of life’s cruelty,
Crippled in despair and anguish.
And for those moments, it often feels like
They will never go away.
For once, I'd like to think of spring,
To hope in hopelessness.
Yet, I hope for
Yearning for a new life, spring,
How I could breathe like before.
In grief, I was confounded
Most often, numb.
I do not understand it.
But,
Loathe is not the language
I know or
Speak.
I had to remind myself,
In a soft and gentle voice:
“Spring will come.”
And
Within me will bloom sweet springs,
Like the Earth’s glorious color.
Spring will arrive in full bloom
In love, harmony, and sacredness.
I am not only dreaming; hope is ever alive in me.
Springs, we all wait.