Memories Left Behind
Like Jiri Mt., battered by the typhoon, its back worn and scarred,
Raising its body that once sprawled, gathering its breath,
An old building gropes through the darkening clouds.
Catching the pebbles hurled by the ashen sky,
Like a frail lion, losing its firmly clutched prey,
It fights its breath against the sharp wind, then coughs it out.
Perhaps it waits for the rain, steeped in longing.
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