A poem from the soldier

Bits and pieces
that's what is left.
Bones and ornaments
under a stone flab.

Old names are forgotten,
New names for the bones.
A god in placement of a human.

When they were alive, they have their own name,
When they died,their bones have new names.

The rich have decorative tomb,
the prositute has one flab.
Rough jagged stones identifying the officers
buried with collections from the war scene.

The General was there,
And so was the poet.
He who once ruled the East Asia military during war,
now share a place beside the one who wrote about the war.

All their souls rest here now in this soil,
in wasan road.
they look at me, as we sat isolated under the trees.

At that moment,
I felt the spirits.




NOTE:
A poem by Noushade. He was inspired after a trip to the Japanese Cementry.
During a time where the artists were indulging in a moment with the spirits while siting quitely on stone benches under the trees)