The Other Side of Lost in Translation


Ghosts of the Mid Day of Summer

This spring came a little earlier,
but then almost entire May was a bit cold and rainy,
which brought the gloomy feelings back to me.
Well, fortunately June has changed everything,
now suddenly we are in summer, my favorite season.
Just like the old song saying,
summer time, livin' is so easy, fish are jumpin'
and cotton is high.

Under the large large trees
where the light appeared to be bluish,
Bluebells were blooming
like they were doing a soft sweet little chorus.
Their flowers resembled Hyacinth of spring,
but all of them had pale lavender color.
It really looked like a fantasy world
as if it belonged to somehwere Ghosts and Spirits lived.

You know what,
there are many Ghosts are living
in the botanical garden.
Some of them are sitting on some branches
for a long long time, with little sad faces.
Some of them fly from one flower to another
just like honey bees do.
Sometimes they can be naughty to shake the leaves
when there is no wind.

All ghosts are young and pretty, almost like models.
Does this means only pretty people can become Ghosts,
and live beautiful place like this?
Are uglier or older ghosts living in crappy places?
Maybe so, just like humans, pretty ghosts can be lucky ones.
Does this means I cannot come to
place like this after my death?
Sigh, but it seems to be very understandable.

Look, a very cute ghost is touching
the petals of those purple flowers so softly
with her fingertips.
Bees fly from a flower to flower to seek out honey.
Then what is that ghost doing?
I like to ask,
but probably she will be startled and disappear if I do so.
Soft wind just blows.

After a while, after viewing all these,
it gradually dawned on me that
flowers are the metamorphosis of death.
Not only humans but any other living creatures bloom
as a flower when they die.
And they die again and then go to the other worlds.
Probably those ghosts are giving some instructions
to the souls who will take off to the new world soon.
Or maybe just wishing a good luck.

But then, there are so many varieties of flowers
like big ones, small ones, red ones, white ones,
gorgeous ones and simple ones.
Does it depend on what kind of flower you become
where you go after that?
I would like to ask them, but I know that's something
I should not ask, I should not.

Another soft, sweet and tender wind blows
through the petals of flowers and hair of ghosts.
Slowly breathing and closing my eyes,
it seems that all things around me are suddenly gone.
Stopping to breathe now,
I wonder whether I can be a little white flower or not.

Or maybe I want to be a leaf.
Nobody look at me, but I can be swayed
by this wind until the fall.
Where do they go after they take off of thier twigs?

Not only flowers but everything else are traveling,
on the way to become something else,
changing themselves one after another.
For something, it takes only a second.
For something else, it takes a number of years.
Even if you're not the big flower that everybody loves,
your trip continues.
So why don't you adore the wind that blows for you?

Look, at the center of that grass, where the sun hits,
there is a beautiful ghost standing.
Can't you see that?
Or am I just hallucinating
as my deppressed mind is shot up to the sky
by this bright summer light?



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