The Words Ye Jin Moon (daughter of Sun Myung Moon and Hak Ja Han)

Three Poems

Ye Jin Moon
October 12, 1970

In Jin Moon with her brother Kwon Jin Moon

Flowers In The Wind

1975. Thinking of my little brother, Kwon Jin

My little baby brother! Can you see it?
A handful, it of news -- coming over,
Waddling and wobbling.

Already -- I mean, my dear,
A silklike gush of wind blowing
From yonder mountain,
Like a busy sparrow in flight.

Like your big sis here,
Keep your ears open as one does on top of a high mountain;
Like the ocean,
Keep your mouth and nose wide open.
Then you become receptive to all things around you.

Somebody's coming here --
Carrying a five-colored parasol,
Clad in the bright rainbow.

My little baby brother! I furry, put on
Your Sunday best,
And let's go out, you and I!

To meet God's own spring ambassador,
Ever busy, extraordinarily gifted,
And, of course, exquisitely beautiful --



Time goes round and round,
Going round,
My absentminded heart,
Silently, as in a wasteland.

As if making fun of my anxious waiting, Darkness lingers on,
Scrubbing its greasy paint in slow, slow motion.
I count the hours aloud with my own fingers --
Several hours before the incoming tides.
Before I realize it, my fancy
Paints the familiar faces --
"Papa, Mama, please come home right away!"

As the streaks of dawn straighten their backs leisurely,
Each leaf, turned golden,
Reflects the radiance of the sun.
As morning gradually turns into day,
I impatiently await
To greet my Papa and Mama
With a big, happy smile.

A Wanderer


The sun is setting toward eve:
A deserted, lonely road stretches ahead --

A wanderer trudges along.
Dogging the mountain trails and following the river banks,
He has so far survived so many untoward incidents on the way.

Entangled in a labyrinth,
Heavy in his heart,
How many seasons and years it has been
Since he has stopped counting...

Suffering all manner of hardships,
His skin suntanned beyond recognition,
The ice of utter loneliness forming around his heart,
The wanderer drags his weary feet
Along a forsaken, solitary road,
Roasting his dim memory of hardship On the setting sun. 

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