Akugare (Leaving One’s Place)
How many lights must be cut before the scenery will stop its steps?
How many words must be exhausted before a wish can become a prayer?
How much clamor will let silence be heard?
How much struggle will bring peace?
Crucified, the moment waits in vain.
When I press my self-portrait on the window frame,
the sea becomes a single scoop of water,tears return to feelings,I scatter as particles of rain.
Here, where promises flow backward,now, where promises pile upon promises,
whoever it may be, it is not easy,wherever it may be, there is no rest.
Crucified, the moment waits in idleness.
When I see only what is seen,what is seen scatters in fragility.
With facts, politics strikes emptiness,the pen tip kills time.
Dance madly in the pupil of the eye.
Once I drew with pencils,once I spoke with words in hiragana.
Beyond the skin that filled the margin,a pure white death,
and a girl.
Looking up at the cloudy sky, blurred,a tranquil blue,
a perfect pink.
Before I realized, I was the street.