35. Musashi

wandering
through
the bamboo forest
in the mist
deadly wounded
but still
not dead

looking up
to the sephia
brushed sky
not a single soul
but mine

tightly gripping
the
rugged edge
katana
an empty
sake vase
tied to
my waist with a
double knotted vine
and a black and white
picture of you
on my left hand

thirsty
and
slightly
deslusional
cutting through
haunting ghosts
I pick up
the pace
to an unknown
place

only the echo
of the whistling sword
and the crunching leaves
beneath my feet
fills the silence left by you

and under the ground
the interlacing roots
of this forest

holding together
secretly
but forever tangled up
as one

that image alone
is enough
to regain
some strenght
and carry on
looking forward
to a mirage
where I
might not
even belong