[hat and bread]

OK. Nakahara Chuya

Well look at this! - Here are my bones,
Once having brimmed with the hardships of life,
Now stripped of all their filthy flesh
And bleached white by the rain
Along the sharp and jutting edges.

Don't mistake it for a luster,
The bleached appearance tricks the eyes -
Having drunk their share of rain,
Having been buffeted by the wind,
They simply reflect hints of the sky.

And when you think that these are the same bones
That when alive sat in the dining hall
Among the crowds of people,
The same bones that ate boiled honey-wort,
What else can you do but laugh?!

Well look at this! - Here are my bones -
Being looked at by me? How funny!
Has my spirit somehow remained,
Only to find these bones again,
To find itself looking at them?

Along the edge of a stream in my village,
They loiter in a withered patch of grass,
Being looked at- by me?!
Standing as tall as an old sign-board,
My bleached bones are poking into the air.