Listen to the sound of the wind, modern poetry

I run at the top of the mountain.

The sound of the wind is in my ears.

this time

It's a little different from the past

Like a long-awaited cry

It's not mom's anxious call.

It looks like a million horses.

The sound was mixed with flying sand and hit the rock wall.

Mix with the sheep and stay away from the cage

There is a child crying.

There is an old man whispering.

Vaguely

They told their pain in tears.

Because mom is missing.

this time

It's a little different from the past

The river is singing.

It's despair in sadness.

Or the joy of satisfaction

None of this has anything to do with it.

Right here in this land.

She blends the essence into her blood and breathes fragrance.

this time

It's really a little different from before.

Looking for a soft stone

Put it in your hand.

Take it and keep running.

Along the flat mountain road

Find a stumbling block to the river

Wrinkles clearly carved in the stone.

Keep running

In the cry of the old man

Until that voice becomes

Mother's smile when she came back.

I have been running.

On this endless mountain top