I. L. Chang

Workday evening

The sun sets.
Cars move in an organized manner like ants along the road.
They curl around the city for rest and food.
An ecosystem sprawls from either side of the main road.
Like the labyrinth of an anthill.
Lined with neon signs, a narrow path calls you home.
Come eat. Come drink. You’ve worked hard for the day.
An assortment of businesses cluster adjacent to and underneath officetels and villas housing a population of humans.

The night falls.
Golden yellow street lights flicker on.
Fluorescent lighting from the windows of buildings shine like stars.
You walk away from the bustle after a meal and a drink.
C’mon just one more drink! Let’s have a smoke!
You bow to them and say, Next time.
Voices are muted, replaced with some sense of serenity
The darkest place is in the sliver between buildings.
Unkept and unnoticed.
There you find a piece of the quiet winter sky.
Letting out a minty breath – reprieve from the claustrophobic city life.

A lost spring

Soon came an unknown warmth.
Sunny days clouded by dust.
A faded grey and a washed-out yellow cover the cityscape.
Blush pink cherry blossoms nowhere in sight.
They’re late. You hope.
Cool, breezy, blue skies are numbered.
Parks still dressed in dusty yellow grass and brown branches.
Mountainous hills still wearing a yellow brown suit.
Perhaps a pending apocalypse.
Summer crouching near as temperatures rise to double digits.
Traces of spring unrecognizable.
Shrinking as the time passes,
Accompanying the forgotten Autumn.
Summer and Winter oppressing the two,
Fighting a divided war.

Sunsets and cafes

Sunsets in Seoul are as common as cafes.

31 bridges to choose your viewing.
Any day ends with a magnificent sight.
Lights from cars twinkle across the bridge above the Han River,
Shuttling to and from clusters of glass buildings,
Creating the cityscape as we know.
Behind it all,
Is the blinding golden yellow-red yolk lowering its body into the horizon,
Painting the blue skies with a soft, warm pink and lilac.

Cafes are two shops down, three floors up, spread across the street and in every alleyway.
A meeting place before and after meals.
Today I saw,
A silhouette of a boy, coffee cup, and plant.
Their shadows against the setting sun.
As the sky darkens, the warm lights brighten the interior.
The boy leans across the table, listening intently to a girl pleading her case against work place woes.
Jazz music and chatter hum in the background.
Books are placed on shelves in various knooks.
Cafes are often angular shapes,
Some on the ground floor, some with a rooftop.
None are exactly the same.
Just like the people who frequent the place.