Alone at East Lake (After Li Shangyin)

by George Freek

Swallow sitting on a tree limb in nature

Swallows rise in the air

as softly as feathers,

but they go nowhere,

then disappear, as if

they’d never been here.

I feel the heaviness

of my fate, as if some God

was once in this room,

but is now gone away,

to leave it a sterile place.

Among the dying leaves,

rain whispers a somber song.

I sip a cup of tea,

and question the stars,

made wise by time,

but they’re distant and grim,

and give no answer to me.

Category: Featured, Poetry