The Japanese Tear

The wave had a curved lip struck, Shining in late light While it was coming to nothing. Being clothed only in its sound To dance its macabre dance On the earth's withered bark, It started to destroy life. While hoarding their last days, People could feel the effects of radiation on them. They were like lost lilies Curved over their stricken lips To take their last sliver of light, The vast bulk of the time And the whole whiteness in waiting. Some of them while being pierced by The wood's woven shades Were singing lullabies about the late lilies In autumn. After that, they disappeared In the wave's mystery And in that late low light Flaming invisible tongues of flames With water. In some lullabies, There were notched some white ubiquitous crosses. Those people started to speak In Mother Earth's unique tongue While whitening wood's woven waters Before crossing the notch And ascending to Heaven. They had been floating On the wave while looking so wounded And our memories were notched with their crosses. They became the only voices Being clothed in their groan Impressing the withered bark Of the exhausted Mother Earth Losing the water of life In the water. Others lived their last seconds To disappear in the gray stones Still keeping in their minds The heavy weight of their groans. The pale planet Was fissuring the wound Of her stumbling block, The pale planet Was crisping the air in her icy breathes To sow its sorrow in its new seed Of winds. With an eternal starvation of souls, The blackness filled its inside. Some pink bleeding clouds Reddened the dreary rain Waiting for the rainbow of hope. Poem by Marieta Maglas Variant With its gracefully arched crest, the wave glimmered in the fading light as it approached an inevitable stillness. It was draped solely in its sound, performing a haunting dance upon the earth's parched surface, beginning to unravel the fabric of life. As people clung to their dwindling days, they sensed the creeping effects of radiation enveloping them. They resembled forlorn lilies, bent over their wounded lips, grasping for the last remnants of light, the weight of time pressing down upon them, and the stark whiteness of what lay ahead. Some, caught in the intricate shadows of the trees, sang lullabies about the late-blooming lilies of autumn. Then, they vanished into the enigma of the wave, swallowed by the dim light, where invisible tongues of flame flickered amidst the water. In the landscape, white crosses stood out, marking a presence that was everywhere. The people began to communicate in the distinct language of Mother Earth, their voices mingling with the flowing waters of the forest as they prepared to cross the threshold and rise to the heavens. They drifted on the waves, their expressions reflecting deep wounds, while our memories were etched with their crosses. Their voices became the sole sound, wrapped in their sorrow, leaving an imprint on the weary bark of Mother Earth, who was losing the essence of life within her waters. Others faced their final moments, vanishing into the gray stones, yet their minds remained burdened by the weight of their lamentations. The pale planet was cracking open the wound of its struggles, exhaling icy breaths that chilled the air, sowing its grief into the winds of change. An insatiable eater of souls, the darkness engulfed them and exuded its core. Some soft, bleeding clouds tinged the dreary rain with shades of red, while waiting for the promise of a hopeful rainbow. Poem by Marieta Maglas