Friday, March 14, 2008

waka of budouadana: nines

Battered, bruised, unbowed,
The man leans against his crutch,
Surveying his yield:
Eight crutches from prior trials,
Hard proofs one must be wary.
Nine cups of wishes,
Arrayed behind the winner
Like sweet dreams come true,
Accomplishments completed,
Provide passing contentment.
The fears of the night,
Regrets for what might have been,
Shine like nine sharp swords,
Painful trophies she maintains
On her lonely bedroom wall.
The noble lady
Strolls her garden of nine coins,
Falcon on her wrist,
Proof that though she is gracious,
She has the power to kill.

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