Takasugi Shinsuke
A serpentine enigma,trembles, in the wake of the who counts but three times, lives,for an eye for an eye,a arm for a leg. Smirking, Swathed in bandages,the serpentine mysteryjudges,the many tragedies of the world. As he suffers and gloats that things could not haveturned,towards the blinding truthof the irony and the sufferings of life.
The scaled curling serpent,
Could not
Stop the world,
Stop life,
Stop death,
Always taking what was his,
In the mud melodies of the monsoon.
The venomous, feared serpent
Would not
Let the world,
Let life,
Let death.
Lessen his thirst for revenge,
As he watched the sun turn into the moon.
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I closed my good eye,
Here and by,
And listened,
To the glistening chatter of water
Hitting the slick surface.
Pouring profusely in long, rushing rivers.
Smoke rose from my pipe,
Twisting in silent swirls towards the roof.
My sword hung by my left,
My instrument lay on my right.
I do not know
Why they acted so aloof
Upon the sight
Of me, their comrade.
Have they gone insane
As well as inane,
Mad like the rest of the
Damned, cursed, and dying?
He was the one who had taught us,
They were the ones that had taken him,
Dead as a stone, and not dying.
Must I sit or take my own justice
Against those bloodied fools,
Whose blades whipped through the sultry summer season,
Like cicadas in their shrill silent serenades?
Must I wait or bestow my vengeance
Against those bloodied barons,
Whose blades sung through the early spring monsoons,
Like the nightingales in their lustrous melodies.
The rain that one day,
Just seemed to
never go away.
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