Poetry is a piece of the heart. Poetry is a piece sent on the wind from someone I don't know, at a time unknown to me, in a place unfamiliar to me. No wonder it's not familiar to us. A piece of someone else's heart is not mine, so it is natural that we are not used to it. But ironically, this very fact makes us read and love poetry.
It is someone else's heart, never mine, so even though it should never be familiar, the moment you read it, your heart rivets to the piece. It makes you think, "Huh? My heart got here before me." At that moment, this lonely earth will no longer be a lonely place. Even if there is only one soul that acknowledges me, we will not be feeling lonely anymore.
At the end of the day, evening famishment and evening rest lie side by side. Weary but humble hands held together tightly; The relief that famishment helps repose, and that repose nurtures famishment, fills this modest poem. This is the ordinary but also the most grateful side of us. In particular, the phrase “helping each other by being side by side” stays with us for a long time. A person in pain can empathize with the suffering of others, and a person who has been hurt can relate to the wounds of others. Even though we are not great, ordinary people, we can move forward side by side. And side by side, we can hold the hand of the person next to us. That is really fortunate.