Futile Hope For Liberty

Futile Hope For Liberty
© Surazeus
2026 04 25

When the black-necked crane of her wounded heart 
flaps mordantly above pale bare-limbed woods, 
Yi Soo-ah leans back in red leather seat 
and sighs with rattle of fast iron wheels 
in train that winds along the river shore 
far away from house where her mother died. 

Late winter shadows of high mountain peaks 
shroud valley of plum trees in thoughtful hope 
at haunting melody of the jade flute 
because she is unaccustomed to grief 
that guides her way along the unseen track 
outside classifiable frame of faith. 

Walking alone along the winding road 
among plum trees that rustle secret truths, 
Yi Soo-ah pauses by the cement bridge 
and gazes shocked at the car-wounded deer 
that trembles halfway down steep slope of weeds 
till she kneels and cries for its innocence. 

Though we exist in world of fragile souls, 
our hearts swell strong with bravery of fear 
at flash of silver clouds over bare trees, 
Yi Soo-ah whispers to the flowing stream 
that shimmers over time-smoothed stones of fate, 
yet wonders if the sparrow understands. 

Small sparrow with chestnut crown and gold wings 
explains that all organic bodies die 
but atoms forming frames of psychic force 
fall in soil where roots transform them to plums, 
so Yi Soo-ah plucks purple fruit of hope 
and gasps with pleasure to consume Rain Soul. 

Startled at sudden clatter in the woods, 
Yi Soo-ah backs against the power pole 
when older gray-haired man in prison suit, 
face and arms streaked with blood of urgent fear,  
stumbles on the road and falls to his knees, 
heart clanging with terror of wordless truth. 

Pressing thick blood-stained book of poetry 
in careful distress of her trembling hands, 
the gray-haired prisoner stares in her eyes 
with ache of longing that she understands, 
then flees into grim shadow of the woods 
when platoon of soldiers with guns appear. 

Wincing at gunfire and scream of despair, 
Yi Soo-ah runs dusty road into town, 
slouches on bench outside small grocery store, 
and drinks cold soda as she shakes from shock, 
then cries quietly as she reads his poems 
about his futile hope for liberty.