The All-Night Reader
Faijullah Aman
Staying up late may ruin my health,
trouble my stomach,
blur my vision,
bring on a headache,
or some other ailment.
Still, I stay awake.
I remain awake every minute,
gazing at the black letters.
The Fajr call to prayer rings out.
I ride my battery-powered bicycle to the mosque.
The roads are hushed,
though not entirely deserted.
South Korea’s hardworking laborers
are already heading to their workplaces.
At this early hour,
even the birds have not yet awakened.
My solitary bicycle carries
the all-night reader onward.
A car or two suddenly appears in sight.
At this hour, the cars carry no industrialists,
no factory owners,
but poor workers heading out
in search of day labor and part-time jobs.
These are not the scenes I see.
I am traveling along the roads of a world
thousands of years in the past.
All night, on the pages of books,
silent letters come alive before my eyes.
People from the Joseon, Goryeo, and Silla dynasties
gather all around me.
Manchuria, Beijing, and Tokyo
rise in the eastern reaches of the world.
Becoming, in turn, the ancient Confucius
or the Buddha,
the all-night reader rides a Chinese-made,
battery-powered bicycle,
following the banks of the Han River,
moving onward in secluded silence.
October 17, 2024
Sambudong, South Korea