m still happy

i tried hard to weave a cocoon
but the seasonal weavers have already harvested them all,
i tried hard to fake a corpse
but the occasional nightmares drove the dreams away,
i tried not to die a deluge in the ocean of poems
but the anonymous fireflies bring me my private literature!

you may not have known,
i have tried to conquer my heart and body with listless steps
but the gait, it has taken my back a toll,
i have tried to save a morsel a day through the hopeless nights
but the earnings have lost the chequered in the midst of tears!

but i am still happy with these little pains here and there
but what i abhor is me wraping in half-eaten mulberry leaves
even the silkworms in *Ishok Ching*, they have their dues cleared
before the moths mate, with few coupling here and there