Until I Belong

I am the dandelion of the plain.

Whether the wind blows or not,

I am destined to fall apart.

I scatter—

and every fragment of me

travels to a different world.

I am never picked

for someone’s wish.

Fate’s wind

always plucks me without a stem,

dragging me from here to there.

There is no complaint.

No resistance.

No consent either.

Like other dandelions,

I have no roots in the soil.

No matter how much

my small, longing hands

beg for the wind’s embrace

at the moment it rises,

I will still go.

Once again,

the hand of fate will pick me,

sending my pieces

to distant places.

Before my fragments

can root themselves in fresh soil,

before they find a home,

they will be torn away again

from the earth’s arms

and cast farther away.

There is no complaint.

There is no resistance.

This is what fate has written for me.

And now,

a wandering dandelion,

I will dance to the wind’s tune,

leap across distant lands—

hoping that one day

I may rest

in the soil.