rain patters like beatings from a cold mother

a young rascal looks down at the water 

on Mapo Bridge

at the Han Rivers.

reluctance glimmering under the weeping moonlight.

he contemplates the smiling polaroids

and a letter of words he dare not say,

raising a hand to shelter it from the rain

but the rain still lets its hunger get the best of it anyway,

feasting on the crisp now soggy paper;

like what happened to 

the abandoned bikes that rust in solitary.

it doesn’t matter anymore.

liquid woe washed away by clarity, 

a gift from the benevolent rain. 

Find solace, a fleeting whisper from the skies.

“The dawn will come for sure” 

words which have been read too many times. 

his han

            ds were scarred and scuffed

etching verses of each painful memory.

the Han Rivers that bear too much Han.

in this weather where 寒2 is most inevitable, 

the Han River wraps around him with a chilly warmth;

solace soaks his clothes and seeps into his pores.

his han

            ds washed and cleaned 

he finally gathers himself together

leaving the sogged letter into a bin

and the waterproof polaroids tucked in his pocket 

perhaps the words 

which have been read too many times

still have meaning

the Han River is a great place to ride bikes

where 한3 is your true friend.

Wong Jing Wen (Class of 2026) is an explorative writer who enjoys marvelling at pretty words. 

  1. (Han): One, singular ↩︎
  2. (Han): Catching a cold or feeling cold ↩︎
  3. (Han): One, 寒 = A cold (sickness), 寒 = Feeling cold (literal), Sorrow, Han River