Land of the Rising Sun

A poem about a foreign land that will make someone's years of getting old, be ecstatic that as he finally leaves his home and steps forward to that foreign land, he never wishes to return back again.

Land of The Rising Sun

By CC

 

There are times, I’ve found myself,

Daydreaming for a place,

Wherein I know I’ll feel ecstatic

As the years of getting old come by,

If ever I get to go there someday

Wherein there are bright city lights,

That will gladly abide you

The moment planes would land,

I know there will be petals

Of cherry blossom trees,

That you would face, when the wind

Vastly blows on your face,

As a means of greeting

That they’ve welcomed you,

With open arms,

When you took off to a place

You’d know you’re not belong,

But you felt euphoric to adapt,

As if you’ve waited for that moment

For the rest of your life,

You don’t even care if you would gamble

All the dimes you’ve cherished

Just to get to a time that you’re there,

Conquering your sanity just to be there,

Even there is this barrier named language,

But the moment you luckily land there

Your baggage, you’ll know you are

Fortunate because the younger you

Endured everything life throws at you,

Just to arrive in that celestial place

And see how life works while

Enlightening youthful minds

And seeking to find inspiration,

To write for the aspects of life,

You longed to explore,

As you go wrinkly and ancient

While you yearned to live peacefully,

In a place, you’d never want to replace

From somewhere you have dreadful memories

With faces, you’d never want to wake up with,

Breathing the same air in the same place,

As if you’ll look forward to have residency

In a place, wherein there are feminine

Chink Asian eyes everywhere,

That is so pleasing to the keened eyes

And gives you butterflies,

Whenever they surround you,

Over towering temples with Buddha’s

That you would merely pray to,

But still cherishing their beliefs,

Vending machines that are eternally there

Whenever you’ll get thirsty,

Historical places that you would

Barely study but will solely admire,

And lighting up a foreign cigarette

While silently but vividly saying

To yourself, that you’ve made it

Would look aesthetically pleasing

While the icy wind at night

Gently blows on your face

As you’ve finish your smoke

And shove your lighter in the pocket

Of your old freezing coat,

For it is the last time for you to inhale

And exhale that breezing smoke,

That fuses with that icy nostalgic wind

Because you just need to feel the moment

Of relief, that you’ve never regretted

Your decisions and aspirations in life,

When you’re broke and young,

Things, only can be seen and felt

Ecstatically for you, in a country believed,

As the Land of The Rising Sun.

 

 

Author's Note

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