Arashiyama
Arashiyama
The wise hills rise straight up from the river.
Why do the trees shine with silver mist?
Is is mid-day; the sun soaks the air.
At first sight, my soul squeaks with delight:
“Yes, this is it! Yes, I was here!â€
When Kyoto wore Japan’s crown,
This is where priests and poets walked.
We two take a rowboat down the river,
Crowded with boatfuls of lovers and kids.
One broad-faced man almost bumps us.
He steers away and
Shouts through a toothy smile, “Spring!â€
Now and again,
The wind blows a whiff of the ancient mist –
Fresh from the forest-tomb.
– Pragati Pascale.
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