Arirang Hill

the hill many people passed over the hill, like a one, not too high or rough extended from the backyard of a hometown, the hill that is smoother and easier than a half moon nevertheless, the people who crossed over the hill may have carried their own problems that is numberless as the sands on the seashore, sighs deeper and heavier than the footmarks left behind some went with early flowers came with the chilly wind some may have crossed over, drenched in a torrential rain some may crunched through the killing frost covered in fallen leaves some may struggled through a blinding snow since life is such, as the sun rises in the morning becomes a moon at night; a piece of drifting cloud becomes stars as night deepens; a bride carried by a palanquin passed following the gloom on the pony; a woman led her child passed, carrying a jar filled with tomorrow on her head; following a funeral streamer, a pallbearers’ dirge crossed over the hill left gloomy echo behind. Arirang* is the hill so many souls passed carrying uniquely woven their very own stories Arirang hill simply standing there without a word though she witnessed everything; like a half moon the hill though let all kinds of worldly affairs crossed over stood perfectly mute; it might be thought the earth keeps revolving and people keep breathing, the hill doesn’t want to say a word *Arirang: imagery hill