My father

 

 

 

You are a man

who makes me some tight

every morning

and every evening

of the year,

three hundred and sixty-five days.

 

You are a man

whose eyes I can't look upon

when you are saying to me,

 

You are a man

who makes my heart shrink

even by your small voice,

and finally makes me cry

by your big voice

You are a man,

whose arm played a role as a pillow

when I was sleeping.

 

You are a man,

who was rubbing my face with your rough beard

when I was a child,

and patting my wet hip,

when I was urinating on my pants.

 

You are a man,

who encouraged me,

when I was upset because my grade was low

in the second grade of the elementary school

You said, 'Never mind'

as lifting my head up with your big hand

and flying me up in the air.

 

When the deep dark night

was pressing down the shallow dim evening,

we, my brothers and sisters, stood at attention

and bowed to you in a line.

Our eyesight, however, put on only one place,

that is, a paper pack on your left hand at the side

which held something to eat.

 

I didn't know that

the distance which

I couldn‘t stick to you,

whenever you came to me

or everytime I came to you,

was due to the terrible sense of responsibility

and the faithful sternness,

until I became mature.

 

Even though you carried on

such a stormy roughness of life on the back,

you are worrying about the remained descent even now,

that results in the winkle on your face

that are getting more and more deeply

and in the dark mark on your face

that are getting stronger and stronger.

 

Those all could happen

because you are my father.

 

You were my proud father,

You are my proud father,

You will be my proud father,

until I die.