I find myself an Injun with Han
A Korean burdened with Han
I never wondered where I belong
but rather what is wrong?
They say you can’t express the sorrow of Han
but somehow find meaning and move on
There’s no words but the feeling is there
and I find it more Historians don’t care
or perhaps nobody can hear
the cries of my Grandmother’s
the cries of death from the creek.
Ancestors still suffer
in words they’re unable to speak.
I find myself wrapped in the towel of Han.
In its womb I belong
because I can’t figure out what’s wrong…
How does one move on
when so much still affects us?
They taught us in God we trust
but when acceptance isn’t enough
to get the people to look up
and put the liquor down
or for now not be ashamed of the kimch’i in the ground.
How do we somehow
from the intensity of Han?