Six lanes
Divided, six-lane road
Three come, three go
In middle, there is wall
Concrete, meter tall.
In the past animals could cross
But, raccoon was not taught
Came running with zigzag
On return, confused, lost track.
The Russians have belief…
Lingers on the deceased spirit …
Three days, then seven, forty and…
I wish I could be ghost
To have talk with raccoon.
Now its corpse, swollen, is rotten
Thick is air, stagnant with stench.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem