I sat on my porch,
and watched the timeless warriors,
Battle with their katanas,
And kimonos,
Screaming wildly,
Against the evening sky.
They come frequently,
To fight,
To prove who is the strongest.
Inside and out,
The samurai fight,
A sword slashes against my rib,
the feeling of doubt,
A kanabo cracks against my skull,
a feeling of remorse,
An arrow shot to the chest,
a feeling of loneliness.
The wounds they feel,
Cold,
and warm,
and sad,
but glad.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem