It was a season when I visited my father’s grave
in early autumn in July by the lunar calendar.
On the long way I heard the sounds
that the crickets were singing.
I walked to the grave relaxedly and slowly.
And in the step by step,
I had cleared my mind gradually.
When I passed the noisy street,
I reached a quiet Buddhist temple.
Before my father’s spirit of the deceased,
I described my secret mind.
And beyond the clouds,
I revealed my feelings of anxiety.
The wind and the dewdrops
which were dripped down the grasses went up more.
And I obeyed the times,
so the things between the past and the present differed far away.
In a poetry which I newly made the Ancient Chinese Poetry,
I wrote it on my bare facts.
And when I put the poetry to music and sang it,
I felt that a cup of alcoholic beverage was deeply.
Masaya Samura (pen name: Gensai Shirakawa) in Osaka, Japan
At August 31, 2017 (for August 30)