いや高く雪降り積みて天ちかく雪除（よ）する場の聖壇の如
the higher
snow falling and piling
the closer
a snow dumping place to the celestial
like a sanctuary
©2019Rika Inami
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From Mr. Alberto Palomo
The following is Eduardo Galeano's poem.
*
The Nobodies Fleas dream of buying a dog and the nobodies dream of getting out from under their poverty, that some magic day suddenly good fortune will rain upon them that it will downpour bucket-fulls of good luck. But good luck doesn’t rain today or tomorrow or ever, not even a little drizzle falls from the sky. No matter how much the nobodies cry for it and even when their left hand itches or they get up on the right foot, or when they start the year getting a new broom. The nobodies: the sons of no one, the owners of nothing. The nobodies: treated as no one, running after the carrot, dying their lives, fucked, double-fucked. Who are not, even when they are. Who don’t speak languages, but rather dialects. Who don’t follow religions, but rather superstitions. Who don’t do art, but rather crafts. Who don’t practice culture, but rather folklore. Who are not human, but rather human resources. Who have no face but have arms, who have no name, but rather a number. Who don’t appear in the universal history books, but rather in the police pages of the local press. The nobodies, the ones who are worth less than the bullet that kills them. Eduardo Galeano
From Mr. Alberto Palomo
The following is Eduardo Galeano's poem.
*
The Nobodies Fleas dream of buying a dog and the nobodies dream of getting out from under their poverty, that some magic day suddenly good fortune will rain upon them that it will downpour bucket-fulls of good luck. But good luck doesn’t rain today or tomorrow or ever, not even a little drizzle falls from the sky. No matter how much the nobodies cry for it and even when their left hand itches or they get up on the right foot, or when they start the year getting a new broom. The nobodies: the sons of no one, the owners of nothing. The nobodies: treated as no one, running after the carrot, dying their lives, fucked, double-fucked. Who are not, even when they are. Who don’t speak languages, but rather dialects. Who don’t follow religions, but rather superstitions. Who don’t do art, but rather crafts. Who don’t practice culture, but rather folklore. Who are not human, but rather human resources. Who have no face but have arms, who have no name, but rather a number. Who don’t appear in the universal history books, but rather in the police pages of the local press. The nobodies, the ones who are worth less than the bullet that kills them. Eduardo Galeano
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Divine melodious
seasons
some harsh some mellow
inside the simplicity beauty lies
inside magic into One
©Miriam Strauss
--------------------------------
聖壇の如く積りし雪高く天まであると思う雪除け
©Ryuuji Suwa
※
聖壇のごと除雪車積みし雪高く天まであるか今日も降りきて (里佳)
Divine melodious
seasons
some harsh some mellow
inside the simplicity beauty lies
inside magic into One
©Miriam Strauss
--------------------------------
聖壇の如く積りし雪高く天まであると思う雪除け
©Ryuuji Suwa
※
聖壇のごと除雪車積みし雪高く天まであるか今日も降りきて (里佳)
