JapanCommentator

At first I had thought I would hate this class,
It’d be another irrelevant pass,
But now I admit I find myself corrected,
My interest in writing has been resurrected.

She stood in the front of the unwelcoming room,
And I felt like I was stuck in an old tomb.
She told us she’d grade us very harshly
I prayed to God and hoped for her pity.

But when we began to write
Gone was my earthen plight
Soon enough my mind was brimming with thoughts
That could not be restrained by glue or knots.

Like a faucet that leaks endlessly more
One twist then two twists then three twists then four
My passion for writing has multiplied fourscore
Making me become someone different from before.

So take pencil in hand and voyage the seas
Or close your eyes and hoard honey with bees.
I’ve learnt from you that while you plea
Your heart and mind will not be free.

//By Ryo TAKAHASHI

The hero comes home. He wants to sleep.
But the trumpets are blaring.
The newsreels are rolling.
There’s no peace for the hero.

The hero comes home. He wants to sleep.
But his mother weeps with joy.
His children scream for attention.
There’s no peace for the hero.

The hero comes home. He wants to sleep.
But there’s a mountain of bills.
A forest-like lawn.
There’s no peace for the hero.

The hero comes home. He wants to sleep.
But his comrades come visit.
They reek of tobacco.
There’s no peace for the hero.

The hero comes home. He wants to sleep.
But his beard’s grizzled.
His hair’s disheveled.
There’s no peace for the hero.

The hero comes home. He goes to sleep.
But those he’s killed appear in his dreams and greet him.
They wave hearty hello’s. We’ll see you soon. Just wait.

There’s no peace for the hero.

//By Ryo TAKAHASHI