French dramatist Victor Hugo once said that forty is the old age of youth. I wholeheartedly agree with his words. After passing the age of forty, I have become more anxious about growing old. I used to be the black cloud; now, I'm turning gray. Time slips away, hair whitens, hands age, veins emerge, and wrinkles stamp the brows. The back begins to ache, teeth become loose, and the voice gets hoarse, a charming quality to some and the roughness of age to others. Furthermore, the body grows dry and liable to fracture, and one day it will no longer respond.
looking out
bare maple branches
in the breeze --
mortally wounded
waving goodbye
looking out
bare maple branches
in the breeze --
mortally wounded
waving goodbye
Haibun Today, 3, 2009
Note: In celebration of the upcoming 7th anniversary of being a published writer of Japanese short form poetry, I am pleased to announce a new publishing project, Selected Tanka Prose by Chen-ou Liu.
