눈물 Tears ​By Park Ki-bum скачать в хорошем качестве

눈물 Tears ​By Park Ki-bum

"The Korean song is followed by an English version." Click to see more Homemade "The Korean song is followed by an English version." "Hello, I am poet park ki-bum. I’ve started creating songs based on the poems I wrote myself. I hope you enjoy listening to them. Any singers who wish to cover my songs are more than welcome to do so. My only wish is for many people to find joy in them. Thank you for your trust." "The Korean song is followed by an English version." Click to see more Homemade 눈물 ​박기범 ​입술 앞에 겨울이 서 있다 말 한 줌 손바닥에서 미끄러지면 누군가의 가슴에 얼음이 박힌다 ​그래서 나는 오늘도 말을 덜어낸다 밭에 씨를 아끼듯 말을 아끼면 사람이 자란다 ​소리를 높이면 뜻이 부서진다 산이 크게 말하지 않는 이유를 나는 늦게 배웠다 낮은 목소리는 우물처럼 깊다 조용한 물이 목마른 얼굴을 오래 비춘다 ​귀를 훔치는 말은 바람처럼 스쳐 가고 가슴을 흔드는 말은 겨울 논에 남은 볏짚처럼 오래 따뜻하다 ​칭찬은 마을 골목을 천천히 걷는 발자국 험담은 밤마다 하늘을 건너는 까마귀 떼 ​혀로만 말하지 말라던 늙은 나무의 그림자가 내 어깨를 잡는다 눈으로 말하면 사람의 마음이 먼저 고개를 끄덕인다 ​입술의 짧은 숨이 어떤 가슴에서는 삼십 년 눈물로 산다 ​그래서 오늘도 나는 말을 묶어 둔다 혀는 내 것이지만 한 번 떠난 말은 돌아오지 않는 강물 ​어둠 속에서도 사람의 등을 베지 않는 따뜻한 말 한 개 겨울 주머니에 넣어 천천히 건네는 밤이다 Tears ​By Park Ki-bum ​Winter stands before my lips. If a handful of words slips from my palm, ice becomes lodged in someone’s heart. ​That is why, today again, I pare down my words. When words are spared, like seeds saved for the field, a person grows. ​When the voice is raised, the meaning shatters. I learned late in life why the mountains do not speak loudly. A low voice is as deep as a well. Quiet water reflects a thirsty face for a long time. ​Words that steal the ear pass by like the wind, but words that shake the heart stay warm for a long time, like rice straw left in a winter field. ​Praise is footsteps walking slowly through a village alley. Slander is a flock of crows crossing the sky every night. ​The shadow of an old tree, which told me not to speak with only the tongue, grasps my shoulder. When you speak with your eyes, the human heart nods first. ​A short breath from the lips lives as thirty years of tears in some hearts. ​That is why, today again, I keep my words tied up. The tongue is mine, but once a word departs, it is a river that never returns. ​Even in the darkness, it is a night to slowly offer a single warm word— one that does not cut into a person’s back— kept tucked away in a winter pocket. ​