From the depths of sleep, toward the countless—
night inevitably drifts into morning.

A wind from an age
where even suicide leaves no grave
moves through buildings, machines, and men.

All the while,
summer stirred in restless haste.

Yesterday’s sun—
a goddess of vast, eternal sleep.

The silent night
flows into September’s sky.

Beyond the turning wheel,
carrying the sealed city of Orang,
September passes away.

In the forgetting of exits—
a single ray of sunlight
cannot release me,
cannot forget.

And surely, September returns.

Do you know the surrender of Ryu?

Buried in deep sleep, the beginning,
a room in retreat.

On a barren September morning,
a voice finds its master,
scattered into the wind.

Note: Composed during my second year at Seoul Seminary, in the early autumn of 1971—at the time of yet another presidential election for Junghee Park, marking a decade since the beginning of his military regime.

[Beginning Series – Part 3]

© TaeHun Yoon