"Yesterday" by The Beatles
"My Father's Eyes" by Eric Clapton
"Hello" by Adele
"Vincent" by Don McLean
"November Rain" by Guns N' Roses
"Winter" by Tori Amos
"I'm Losing You" by John Lennon
"Time" by Pink Floyd
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."
by Robert Frost
It seemed to me not so long ago that my life was an eternal summer, but it turned out to be a frozen iceberg of dreams. Only recently did it seem to me that I would be freed from the frozen shackles, but again, I froze deeper and deeper.
And my bony hands, once bruised and battered, eagerly rubbed against each other to warm up. There was a foggy, damp, and cold autumn. An autumn from which there was no escape. An autumn that grew stronger day by day. Only the little autumn wind felt despondent, which not long ago scattered yellowed leaves throughout the city. An empty and cold city.
I could barely recognize the streets of my shattered, multicolored city, which in my childhood resembled scattered candies on a meadow and from which I sought to escape when spring was coming to an end. Somewhere on the overgrown pathways of memory, my cheerful, chubby self was carried in my father's arms, laughing and feeding me sweet cotton candy. It was warm and satisfying back then. Thank you, Dad, for not only the desperate calls but also the distance that I remember. In that distance, where I nested at the end of spring and summer, I only heard echoes of your sad voice, which disrupted all the joyful notes.
It's not always about summer or spring; autumn comes after me, and then only winter. But I still dream of the past spring. Right now, Dad, I want to visit you, even though I'm certainly an uninvited guest. You haven't called me in a long time, and you definitely don't write letters. I'm going to visit you with my eternal companion, and I think I'll stay as a guest for a long time because you've been waiting for me for more than just a year, but many.
Once, my life danced in eternal summer's glow,
A vibrant scene where dreams freely flowed.
Yet swiftly, it shifted—cold, harsh, and dim,
An iceberg of dreams, sinking deep, within.
Clad in the shackles of frost, bound and tight,
My bony hands clapped in the waning light.
Autumn whispered, damp and drear,
A fugitive season, no refuge near.
It prowled stronger each passing day,
While despondent winds lost their way,
Scattering leaves, once lively and bold,
Now yellowed with stories untold.
The city, once a canvas bright,
Faded beneath the autumn's plight.
Candies on meadows, a child's delight,
Now veiled in fog, slipped from sight.
Through overgrown memory's lane I stroll,
To times my father's laughter would roll,
His arms, a haven from spring's last call,
Sweet cotton candy, and warmth over all.
Thank you, Dad, for those distant days,
Echoes of joy amidst the haze.
Though seasons chase and years may bend,
I remember the warmth that you would lend.
Autumn haunts, and winter waits,
Yet still, I dream of past spring's gates.
I come to you, though unbidden, true,
A ghostly visitor, breaking through.
Silence lingers—no calls, no letters,
Yet in your wait, something betters.
For in my heart, where cold winds blew,
I carry the warmth of memories with you.
