[Afternoon Poem] Dream of Travel / Park Hyeongjun

Entangled in aquatic plants, swaying

A drowned body drifting down the river

A waterbird is perched on it

Riding on a rotting raft, the waterbird intends to head out to the distant sea

When maggots are born, they feed on the maggots

Toward the rising sun

The bird will lift its head to greet the morning,

On the swaying, drifting drowned body

The motionless posture

Feels like an ancient memory without even sorrow

Throwing flowers into the river,

People cross the bridge

And flock to the flower market where the festival is held

From the mouth of the drowned body carried by the river

A handful of flower piles spill out

Flowers blooming in vivid colors in the mud,

The smell of burning flesh,

The cry of the waterbird,

Next to a person who defecates sticks like poop into the river,

A person casually brushing their teeth in the river,

If life is a dream

This is a place where the dream is life.

■ I once watched a TV program about India, and as expected, the program was busy going around various places in India, endlessly praising how sacred, spiritual, and wondrous each place was. During this, something happened at Mumbai’s Dhobi Ghat. For reference, Dhobi Ghat is where dhobis do laundry, and dhobis are untouchables whose occupation is laundry. While a dhobi was busily washing clothes there, the host kindly asked if the work was hard. But to the surprise, the dhobi, upon hearing the question, threw the laundry aside and said, “You try it!” glaring fiercely. It was bewildering and shocking. Soon after, I felt ashamed. How obscene and violent is the answer we indifferently expected, or rather naturally demanded, from people for whom “dream is life.” It is disheartening, but of course, this is not a story unique to India. ? Poet Chaesangwoo

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