The Ninth of March

The day was so promising.

First train, second train, third train-

The work of the day was nothing breaking;

The stressing, bustling faces blank or smiling;

There’s no way we could’ve ever known

These final moments were quietly fleeting.

Everything was calm and normal,

Beneath it hidden was terror, pain and ailing.

I woke up March 9 waiting for March 10.

As always the new days would come,

Yet that day never came

And the plans I made.

The little world stopped

And I regret being happy that it did.

The emptiness and meaninglessness

Spelled the blank days for too long.

I miss those small moments of happiness:

The great rush of every morning,

The mellow calm of every night,

Every small sadness and smile;

I miss every precious raindrop.

Faces I wish to remember-

Those days are all slipping;

Memories so precious for the first time,

Why did it have to end abruptly?

These days are truly empty;

Damaged method, unraveling healing;

I've lived the despairing melancholy repeatedly.

I wish I would've done more

With the blessed time that I didn't realize.

I regret being shy and afraid

For the next day never came.

I’m afraid to lose this wonderful memory;

I’m afraid of this new fear in these weary days.

The world is in fear and hurt so undeserving.

How will we all be given our lives back?

March 9: one year has passed so disheartening.

Is there a light to grasp now? Is it hope we lack?

One day, this will become the chapter fleeting!

I still remember every precious raindrop,

Although faintly grasping-

The memories remain and the next new day

Comes closer beyond every broken teardrop.

There’s still hope that remains,

We will see each other again that new day...