Final Immigration

Away from my daily, harsh routine

I seek another life far away

Though my conscience is dead against it,

I give it a try.

With a sharp knife, I cut my heart out

To flee away.

The nature is dry

Trees wrestling with winds,

Leaves leave trees naked.

Roses get yellow and sleepy.

I try to shake my legs

But they are heavy and cold.

Memories of my sad past

Make people wet on their naps.

Cold and red all around

I immigrate away.

Out of sympathy, all say

“Sleep well, my dear.”

I, with a smile on my lips,

Think it is a happy end.