I listen to a song, cleaning a room
my granma says this song sounds good
she makes Sunday lunch
I say this tastes good
she says my clothes are cool
I say they are new
she says she always has liked the colors I am wearing
summer comes around
the green grows in the garden as usual
I trim
she has set a bamboo fan
I use it, hanging a wind-bell my grandpa bought
it rings fine as it sounds, exactly the same as he used to hear
I always have imagined a mutual sense transfers to each other
I will wake up tomorrow
smelling green onion for Miso-Soup for breakfast
It is quite easier to live the inherited cultured life than the displaced rebellious life... well written! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I feel so nice and happy reading this story, simple buy it tells all in details, the connection of sweet between grandma and you well seen here, it so natural and for your poem it was your old style..wabi sabi style which provides skeleton of story and let readers to imagine the rest shape...love it! and Miso soup yum yum_Unwritten Soul