The islanders will realize that they've blocked their breathing holes.

[We sing our songs] 5. Ogwangseok Poet

In 2019, the fall issue (No. 66) of Jeju Writers was titled 'Jeju, Aiming for Illusion'. As Jeju Island was suffering, and a huge destructive scenario of a second airport loomed, members of the Jeju Writers' Association climbed a hill that might disappear, put up wall poems, and collected poems against the second airport for the feature. Time passed, and eventually, the basic plan for the second airport was published. The government plans to build the second airport anyway. The government is planning to build a second airport on Jeju Island without regard for the destruction of the island's identity, but only for the economic benefits of the construction. Nature was here first, but man is destroying it. We've seen too many communities destroyed by development. We can't be bystanders. The conflict between the Gangjeong Naval Base and the second airport is making Jeju an island of conflict, not an island of peace. It is the duty of us writers living on this island to reflect the times. We want to sing our song by serializing our poems in a relay series. / Jeju Writers' Association

It's worth asking yourself if you're wiping out hundreds of years of time in the past and countless hours in the future to save 10-20 minutes. / Photo: copilot

It's April again in the Bijarim forest
The sky where the great blue herons used to fly

The forest where the red-crowned night herons used to fly
The forest where the airplanes used to fly
The shade where the woodpeckers used to walk
The forest where the cars used to run
The forest where the ashcones used to run
The forest where the deeply rooted cedars used to fall
Every time they're cut down from the base, you can hear them crying
in the forest
The only ones losing their homes
The only ones losing their homes
The only ones dying
The only ones dying are the cedars. I tell you,
a new April is beginning,
and when the people who come like an occupying army leave,
the forest will be left desolate,
with only their footprints like a stigma,
and across the plains of asphalt and concrete,
the surviving cedars will cry,
muffled by the
island winds,
and the islanders will know,
that they've been sealed off,
and the islanders will know,
and the island will tremble,
reliving
the memories of an April they're forgetting.