Classic Poem

The night rain whispers outside the window
of my six-mat room, in an alien country.

The poet has a sad vocation, I know;
should I write another line of poetry?

Having received my tuition from home in an envelope
soaked with the smell of sweat and love,

I tuck my college notebook under my arm
and go off to listen to the lecture of an old professor.

Looking back, I see that I have lost my childhood friends:
one and two at a time — all of them.

What was it that I was hoping for,
and why am I simply sinking to the bottom alone?

Life is meant to be difficult:
it is too bad
that a poem comes so easily to me.

My six-mat room in an alien country:
the night rain whispers outside the window.

I light the lamp to drive out the darkness a little,
and I, in my last moments, wait for the morning,
which will come like a new era.

Extending a small hand to myself,
I offer myself the very first handshake,
tears, and condolences.