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Denel Kessler Jan 2016
Awake to a slowly beating drum
morning meditation drifting up the hill
in the garden, tiny birds add sweet highs
tuneless ravens, the bass undertone
trees whisper ancient lyrics
on the passing breeze.

We stroll the Path of Philosophy
through massive wooden gates
into carefully sculpted gardens
exploring the endless number
of temples dotting Kyoto
each more lovely than the last.

Quiet Nanzen-Ji
is where I feel the most
following worship worn
steps to a cave-shrine
heady with wet
and incense

we are purified
by waterfall spray
before returning
the way we came
voices hushed
buoyed by eternity’s hand.

The hotel lobby is filled
with crimson and saffron
glistening heads and broad smiles
from monks gathered there
we bow to each other and are one
may it never be forgotten

revelers arrive by busload
for hanami, cherry blossom viewing
beneath a revered tree
decked out in pink splendor  
lit from below to radiate
surreal, internal light

we sample Kobe yakitori
soba and corn
grilled over open flame
as we flow
through the smiling
celebratory crowd

we savor
what is transitory
as sparks
and blossoms whirl
settling on
our hair and skin.
Kyoto is just one of those magical places...
CH Gorrie Apr 2013
Tea sprouts wildly
by the roadside:
jade splayed fingers

flaming the earth
in warped green flicks.
Mild, astringent,

the aroma drifts
into the
triviality

of the present.
Looking over
my backyard fence

toward the road,
quick, damp-green scent
antiquates my

vision: Eisai,
holding seeds from
Kyoto, hikes

across border
hills into a
feudal Japan.

The tea-lined road,
framed by my
imagination,

is an anachronism,
a snapshot that’s
double-exposed.
Ceyhun Mahi Feb 2018
The water's dreamy, slowly flowing
Between the corners of the streets,
Adorned brightly with lantern lights,
While the midnight wind is blowing.
Their moony, rosy brows are glowing,
At the breezing Kyoto nights,
Presenting to many crowds sights
Who're beautiful, while on they're going.

A maiko here, a geisha there,
Fleeting around in the bright moonbeams,
Like sakura petals on a spring-night.

I ask, they are going to where,
Besides just ending up in dreams
With their paints who're red and white?
I have been always fascinated by geisha and maiko.
Lying together in
the calm of night
eyes losing focus,
drifting towards
sleep, there was
always one more
thought to speak,
one more kiss to
give. Black hair
shone like ravens'
wings on silken
pillows. At dawn,
I would lead my
army into battle,
never to return.

Now, you turn
your face to smile
at a new love,
holding a black
umbrella over her
pretty blond head.

When we met,
our souls saw
who we were  
to one another.

But that was then,
my love.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Carlo C Gomez Feb 12
~
She is not our shrine,
she prays differently
with eyes wide open,
fingers on votive offerings,
preferring her solitude
in the Tea Garden, drinking light

Tomorrow on the tarmac
one flowered suitcase,
stamped for the city of neon people,
will travel to her song,
the pilgrimage of anemic lovers

Her hoisting from water,
(ampullae in hand),
and the unique boutique
growing out of
an alabaster chamber
bring monks out of hiding

The center line of her,
where the flower blooms forth
and learns by observation,
is still an unvisited temple

Until in season of calligraphy,
when she releases the Kogai
from her hair and sits with friendly toes
outstretched in the warm intimacy of
shared water

~
Jedd Ong Dec 2015
They guard our gates. We are ruled by mechanised gods.

We are not free.
We are not real.
We are not awake.

Our mornings wake up to dew and smoke. We wake up and pick up our broomsticks and sweep.

You and I are made to sweep.
And it is through these sweeps we dance our fated dances.

Dance to wake the castles,
and water the gardens,
and venerate Emperors long dead and gone.

“This,” we say, “is our duty.”
“To belong.”

“To bow together.”
“To hope as one.”

We, all key cogs in the machinery. Everyone has a broom and dustpan. Everyone is made to sweep.

"Is this the land," we ask, "that we sang for and dreamt our feverish cartoon dreams for?"
Perhaps not. Our stories exist only in a land beyond time.

We’ve been there. It is a mechanism for the gods. They too hold brooms.

They too sleep in shrines of stone.
They too live in temples of steel.

The gold ones have long ago burned.
Nigel Morgan Feb 2013
Prince Niou had removed himself from Kaoru’s company and the warmth of the wood-burning stove. Under the shelter of the steep karawa eaves he stood to watch the snow, to watch it fall, fall relentlessly, relentlessly. But for the biting cold he might have been watching the blossoms fall and scatter, those intricate, delicate flowers that, as you looked up at them in the trees, were in tessellation with the sky. It was Kisaragi (late February) when winter shows little sign that spring might appear. So now the time of deep snows in the mountain fastness where Kaoru’s family estates straddled part of the necessary journey from Edo to Kyoto.
 
The snowfall mesmerized Niou. It held such a purity of disordered motion, He stretched out his arm to feel the soft touch of the flakes on his embroidered sleeve. He imagined Ukifune’s touch would be like that of this falling snow, a pattering of fingers, a sweep of her long, long hair. She, Kaoru’s mistress, had left earlier in the afternoon to journey safely across the mountain passes to her lakeside home before the heavy snow fall set in. He had been close witness to Kaoru’s passion for this delicate flower picked from across the mountains to grace his country house his wife would never visit in winter. And now Prince Niou had, in just two days of polite proximity, lost his heart and all reason to this girl-woman, this woman-girl. She seemed beyond conventional description such was her beauty and her graceful manner. When her eyes rose to his he lost the composure he knew his station demanded. But Kaoru in his own infatuation and glowing with the pleasuring he and Ukifune enjoyed seemed oblivious to the Prince’s covert gaze.
 
This evening Kaoru had already drunk more than was sensible. But darkness was drawing in, and the duties, what little he allowed himself, were over for the day, except to entertain his eminent friend. He had allowed himself to be carefully boastful of Ukifune’s charms and beauty. His words made frequent veiled suggestions of their moments of pleasure together in this winter world of silence where lovers would part the screens and stand folded in each other’s arms to witness the white world of snowfall decorate the mountain landscape.
 
Prince Niou had already decided that as his friend fell into stupor then sleep, and that would be soon, he would set out across the snows to seek Ukifune’s path, to capture her for himself, to declare his love and passion. As she left he had passed a note to her maid telling her not to be surprised by a night-time visitation. He knew that a journey in falling snow would take many hours and it would probably be dawn before he could approach her mountain retreat, a small house by a lake. There, it seemed, she withdrew from the complexities of court life to find the peace and balance necessary to sustain her beauty. She had described the joy of witnessing the intricate twilights and blood red dawns of winter, of watching the birds rise from and return to the oft-frozen lake. She and her maid would drift idly in her boat watching the black, dense water lap too and fro, until the cold required a return to warmth and comfort.
 
It was to be a hard journey. Niou, though prepared with stout boots, an extra cloak and shawl, knew he would flounder into drifts along way. Only his long staff would save him from ignominy. His saw his path blessed by the light of a half moon and together with a myriad of stars arching across the heavens, he would triumph. He had borrowed items of Kaoru’s clothing, his hat and staff, his bag and winter cloak. To all intents and purposes as he approached Ukifune’s home he would appear as his soon to be cuckolded friend. His thoughts remained fixed on  Ukifune. He longed for the moment when she would raise her eyes to him from her pillow, in surprise, in wonder he hoped. He considered how his cold body would join with her warm body in the infinite caress of love’s first passionate meeting. He would then carry her wrapped in her bed coverings to her boat and, having secured her comfort, pole out into the lake and there join with her as the moon looked down from the dawn sky.
 
Later they would exchange poems:
 
Niou
​Snow upon hill, ice along frozen rivers:
​​There for you I trod, yet for all that never lost
​​The way to be lost in you.

 
Ukifune​
*Quicker than the snow, swirling down at last
​​To lie by a frozen lake, I think I shall
​​Melt away while aloft yet in mid sky.
I went to meet her in a town
just west of Kyoto
she was wearing a colourful flowing kimono.
She greeted me greedily
and she seemed to float ultra easily on her feet
which were tiny
petite.

In the bath house, a tub
an afternoon scrub
and some very green tea.
When the washing was done
Mah Jong
Oh what fun
as I bathed in the glow of the late evening Sun.

Then I woke up in Bow
East London, as if I didn't know
was it a dream?
And yet I was surprisingly clean
except for a tea leaf that clung to my sleeve.
Hard to believe but it's true.
I wouldn't kid you
and it's difficult to see how a tea leaf from green tea
can end up in my bed.

In a town West of Kyoto there's a story they tell
Of a Westerner doing quite well
and getting wed to the belle with the petite little feet
I'd like to meet
him.
So Jo May 2015
chin turns, shadows flit    
cobble stones murmur - do you?      
the lane forks in two
andrea tennille Sep 2013
i’m going to take this knife and slit your throat
underneath it all

dancing very close
you took my hand

but you flew out of the nest,
i'm standing on my own two feet

so the static started
with things to do
everyday and night.
Skylar Keith May 2018
I'm where I want to be
The happy place
I've returned after two years
Much has changed
Many things have not

The sights of skyscrapers
The scent of green tea and fumes
All seems like home to me as I walk through the city

Yet I cry
Smiling comes from time to time
Fake it until you make it comes into play as I'm asked how I am
Silent screams of loneliness
Tears of yearning
For things just beyond my reach

I'm falling into the darkness while in my happy place
When I return 'home' it will be worse

Isolation
Pain
Frustration
Fear

All this fills my mind as I wave goodbye to Tokyo
Kyoto is to come
A spark of joy and excitement

Yet why am I dying when I'm in my happy place

Tokyo & Kyoto
Thoughts while on the Shikansen from Tokyo to Kyoto
Jonny Angel Feb 2014
Flowering beauties
Ochaya’s on Gion Streets
Soothing sweet maikos
Ceyhun Mahi Mar 2017
Once core of the Land of The Rising Sun,
Where the business of Emperors were done.

Over a thousand-years a capital,
Flourishing art and culture of people.

Most cities emerged from little bazaars,
From little candles to luminous stars.

But now a city of customs and calm,
Where all the fine-arts and culture blooms from.

Cities like these are filled with mystery,
Alluring folks from distance silently.
I've never been there but I think it's a beautiful city.
This is an excerpt of my much longer work where I am describing Kyoto and its surroundings in rhyming couplets (the Mesnevi poetic-form).
Nigel Morgan Dec 2012
IX

Oh this gradual coming together as sleep lifts away from bodies resting just apart but then a little turn on the pillow knees touch there is the slightest kiss of a nose a mingling of feet hands may rest atop a thigh and touch experimentally This is such bliss all consuming no thought but each body’s press and caress so slightly so gently given until hands and limbs and kisses and the dearest stroking fills us to the brim with that longing which only the deeper kiss can quench Afterwards we watch from our attic bedroom leaves departing their trees

X

The steep steps and Doric pillars eight in all gather us into an entranced gloom only to spill us out into the light and space of galleries filled with Cyprian artefacts an owl with a removable head more porcelain than even your great aunt could look at but in a corner there were these bowls from Syria 12C and earlier Michael Cardew could have thrown and patterned but didn’t One in Iranian green inscribed thus blessing prosperity glory grace joy happiness security and long life to the owner  nothing more surely ever to be wished for ever to be wanted

XI

My Chinese heroine has a soulmate: Jilia’s deer in flight across a page of Somerset Soft White and Tengin mould oh the verse of Hafiz 14C Sufi mystic flowing into the body of this running beast Rejoice you lonely seeker of the scented path out of the wilderness the perfumed deer has come and there was more in different hands paper parchment poems exquisitely rendered into living words In a frame Goethe’s leaves of the Gingo Biloba stuck to his letter of love to married Marianne This leaf from a tree in the East has been given to my garden

XII

Captivating in beauty glowing silvery-white petals flutter down to lay a blanket of snow beneath the flowering trees and miraculously they did and more to make us wonder that negative space could be so powerfully wrought Hiroshige the master in his element of the winter snows eloquent landscapes figures on the Edo to Kyoto road the detail of raised up clogs and warm layered garments of a Geisha walking out with her maid the stone blue waters the pale reflecting skies the delicate embossing of waves and the flow of hillsides the ukiyo-e woodblock prints pictures of the floating world

XIII

Wearing purple and red your near to Advent colours grace this table we lunch at before a final walk through the city full of our time here amongst the towers and chapels and more history and art than we can manage for the time being Again and always whelmed over by your beauty seen against the press and clutter the clustering in the peopled streets the bicycled roads and in this one o’clock restaurant’s clamour how is it that my eyes are wholly on you my ears only hearing your sweet voice my fingers reaching out to touch you again?
Raj Arumugam Jul 2011
Shibata Zeshin studied art at Kyoto
and in farewell
was told by his sensei:
“you never know
the immensity of Mt Fuji
standing on it;
and so you never know
my importance as your teacher
and how fortunate you’ve been
till you go away from me
and you return to your native Edo”


and in years to come
Zeshin tells his departing students:
“may it be that you
become great artists
and you might say:
I studied under a man called Zeshin”
the poem refers to the Japanese artist Shibata Zeshin (March 15, 1807 – July 13, 1891); companion picture: Fuji Tagonoura, maki-e (lacquer); picture by Shibata Zeshin, 1872
Liam C Calhoun Apr 2016
In admittance,
In ecstasy,
In guilt and in anxiety,
In the gutters of Yuexiu,
The plains of Tamaulipas,
My precious mountain top
Near Calgary,
Or this flat, honeycombed and
High above Kyoto neon,
I’ve finally lost;

I surrender.

I surrender to –

Wave a white flag in comfort,
In defeat, and a first, when I warm,
Come this newer blanket,
Whilst we dance,
Come a first smile, decades, and
Finally to fathom,
“Embrace,” eternity, this
Hold opposed pierced when –
Swords eventually rust,
But fields forever bloom.
A pleasure in never having to wander again?
maudy Mar 2017
where will we be
sleeping in cashmere
holding hands
through the years
to where  the sun
won't hurt like it does here
amidst this humidity
Jonny Angel Jan 2014
O my little darling,
let’s drop by the coffee shop,
we'll have a quick hot-brew.
There's nothing like
a mug of strong Colombian!

Then we can head over to Kyoto’s,
we'll have some platters of delicious-sushi.
I really love the sashimi. 
There's nothing like eating spicy raw-fish
coated with that fiery-hot wasabi!

Hey you girl,
I don’t want to sound too pushy,
but it’s getting kind of late,
let’s head over to my place,
we'll mix up
a couple of slow screwdrivers.
There's nothing like
those tasty midnight cocktails,
I love sipping them,
especially with you.

O you’re my prefect date,
so scrumptious,
so true,
I think I love you!
D'Arcy Sahn Oct 2014
Tears rush down my cheeks
My nose runs
I desperately scrounge for Kleenex
You stand and stare awkwardly
Unapologetic for your cruelty

You're safe for now; I'm still crying
But once this flood stops
And I figure out exactly how much is your fault
You'll die

I still have ten seconds of bawling

You have ten seconds to run

Run to Ecuador and become a drug dealer

******* the Yakuza in Kyoto

Double cross a gang of Trinidadians

Become an alcoholic gold miner

All of these are less consequential than what I plan to do.

Any place is safer than in front of me, so you'd best be fleeing.

Ten seconds *******.
Constructive criticism welcome. No, I do not plan on killing anyone currently. Stop trying to have Glenrose take me away, mom!
Andrej Barovic Feb 2022
Lost in my own world
In endless search of love
How has it come to this?
Why have the doves flown
to lands East and far
Where my heart cannot reach
She's there, I know
I sense,  I feel
A soul in roses woven
Her thorns do not hurt
She waits, staring at the rain
From a Kyoto high-rise roof
The drops wet her cheeks
And yet she moves not
Her legs dangle and dance
From above that neon city
Surveying her world
She endlessly searches
For love
And wonders - how?
Why? - Where?
With a glance into her mind
She finds me there
Starting at a blank screen
Writing a poem
To her name
Carabella Jan 2019
As the moon drifts further into the starry void,
Turning seas into watery graves;
The sun exudes heat, melting icecaps, and stirring up ecosystems.
Burning still in underground caves;
Coal...natural gas.. What shall we do? When all is consumed, there will be no use for you!
Soon they say, we shall fall, despite government policies like Kyoto protocol;
We have made better steps to ensure our safety...
But is it too late? Has our haste not been hasty?
Have our efforts been as strong, as the cars that we drive?
As the days move along; what will survive?
That is the question that comes first to mind;
Before clearing the thickets of woodlands and pine.
Before killing the terrorists... although I'm concerned;
Are we not the terrorist, to the rainforest and fern?
"Of course not!" they say, with such ill-thought conviction;
Well if that is not the case, then tell me your plan of transition.
Instead of restriction. We all have a right to be free; but each of us needs to understand and practice sustainability.
Like every tree, or animal that came before me...
All have a place in the world, which we live,
All have a reason, and truth that they give;
All have a story and a place in our history,
All have the same future; it's not such as mystery!
We are born, then we die, and go back to the land.
Never mind of religion; if it's used to command.
They will try and find a reason of sharing no blame,
For themselves, to the earth, to the wind, to the rain.
But now is the time when reality sheds light, on the brave few that are given wisdom and insight;
To stand up and be counted, will not take any lies; will not salute any flags, will not stand up and fight;
In any war - peace is upheld.... Guns are forgotten, and people are not jailed;
For speaking their thoughts, not keeping them in; to turn into cancer - of sadness and sorrow...
Tomorrow we say.... we'll get up and start, but it's time for a change.
If not to the world - then at least to your heart.
***This is my medicine**
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
and now you're singing karaoke... so ha ha and Kyoto.

and this is the part where i tell you i love you?
it sounds like it's the part where i **** your dog off
and laugh; or maybe that's the part where
i say i'm scooch-peppery-ish!
tangy! mm hmm!
solid gold worth's an advert! aha,
Elvis just rolled up his sleeves!
while Shoon can-can the worthy,
sire nigh nigh the knighted made
speeches at a royal funeral that made 20 kings
abdicate, we all thought of Monaco
and Senna... lipstick Helsinki...
crisscross Albania and: Waterloo...
when Napoleon sniffed glue... oh Waterloo!
i too built Stockholm in a day, based on
the pop culture of Europe casually so.
but indeed Sean, the flowery basin of all
that's Essex, Sussex and Kent,
i.e. Scottish, show... i'm ashoored it'sh
Shcandinavian cartoon or at least halfwit Belgian
with the moustache, dumb-flicked *Hercules
Poirot...
authored by a nagging Agatha Christensen.
ConnectHook Sep 2017
Kyoto rock garden:
mist rises among the pines...
where is that remote?

Bashō-san help me !
That big frog on lily pad
scared me with Haiku.

Shinto temple dawn...
monks ringing the temple gongs:
what a hangover.

Island of robots
poetic soul of *****
and those weird soft drinks

From bowlegged troops
invading the entire East
to bland consumers.

Japanophilia:
weakness of the western mind
grass no greener
Japonaiserie

noun: a style in art reflecting Japanese qualities or motifs;
Apparently blessings soon wither
Where your star shone

Reminisce
In the darkening sky
There's a Taj Mahal!
Undulating endless
Asimetry of
Love

Floating above
The placid
Waters

One
Glimpse ~
My wet hands
Kyoto protocol
Hair in a Thankfury
Violet Versace

And your smiling coasts
Me wrapped in a black coat
Lush lucrative dynamics
Zarathustrian imperative!

Covering your manly
Shoulders

Dig a grave in my
Hollow submarine
Diminishing distance

Was I, to call your firm hand's
Grip ~a lesser degree in Hiking,
Or a postponed poetic height
Thumbs entwined. . .

Spirited as a killer
Eagles mudra
You stare at
My profile

Well ~we stand
Opposing as a lovers
Of A grand Poetic

Name surpassing the time
Awaiting, courting, questioning
Via simile to the blood under
The Bask's barret

No, the ring I've put aside,
My hands are bare tonight!

Bewildered, I´ll stumble forth
within a bright new day to
complete your sermon.

You usually brake the cliche
Walking hand in hand
With Affar Authors
With Dead Spirits
With Alive Authors
Playing dead, unknown
Within the journalists eyes..

When they whisper

Wisdoms to your son's father

When they sturm und drang my sweetest
Sister

The softest spring is coming forth and
I know where to find you. In southern sighs.
Dreamy. Uncatchable.

Playing
For one very special poetic lover of poesis.
Taru Marcellus Jan 2017
Did you know that if you mix seaweed, almond milk and honey, it's a cure for the common cold?

Did you know that when elephants mate, the male squirts from his trunk?

Did you know that "global warming was created by and for the Chinese, in order to make US manufacturing non-competitive..."

Trevor Noah told me, "We live in a post fact world now"
but on my morning commute I see plumes of smoke
forecasting the end of this earth
and somewhere over in China
mother nature is crying so hard bodies are floating
when opinion becomes reality
we are all doomed
cast away to the whims of the unimaginable
like how do you know hell isn't a winter wonderland
and each snowflake isn't a soldier claiming territory
I get chills just thinking of Greenland
swooning so much over CO2
it's melting its heart out
this planet has loved us since before we were thoughts
but we will be its destruction
not now, not tomorrow
but with the gradual passing of time
slowly, earth will forget us
as we have forgotten it
delete us from its archive
from Rio to Kyoto to Paris
we will be reduced to ash
-and oxygen
-and carbon
-and hydrogen
we will return to mother's womb in a plume of smoke
for all the future to see
we can only hope that the next generation can read the signs

*hell: a couple degrees north; keep driving
Dawnstar Jul 2019
daws cry on my roof,
viewing musty lights,
builded high on rocks.
seven towers sing
your old song, now gone:
this is not my fault.

asking opus surf-khan:
why no waves, no proof?
vanish, vanish, man:
daws cry on my roof.

tragic eastern pittance,
gas-wronged breath aloof.
banish, banish, man:
daws cry on my roof.

pigeon paper truths,
accusing hoodlack lights,
still nigh in vox.
earthly powers belt
some old hymn, now dim:
this is not my fault.
Dechanteur Apr 2017
Middle of nowhere, I am still standing
Layers of faded mountains, across the withering cloud-gazing
Tell myself I was wrong, the light sky almost gone
Blocks of buildings, relinquish all the shades
North, South, East, West; tell them it was haul fate.

If creeks sound as scary, it would rings no more fury
Let the memories knock on your magnetic parietal door
Speak of colors of vividness, occasional emptiness
Cherry-blossoms feeling gone, yellow Autumn looks as fine.

Every light, turn on the fight
People jump over the stepping river by the mountainside
Greet, kindness will never ceased.

26th September 2016 - Kyoto, Japan
Amiera Sh.
Zachary Helland Jan 2015
Before the sun brightens our half of the earth
Birds chirp at the break of dawn
You and I, my love
Turn dream to action and embark
Fill our knapsacks with blankets and sweets.  

We’ll slip away unnoticed
Without maps or shoes
Fools desperate to explore the unknown.
We’ll gyre the states as gypsys
Ride rails to the sweet scene of a passing countryside

Our destinations many
Kyoto to Anchorage
Shanghai then Budapest
Should we lose our way
It wouldn’t matter the slightest
Should I wake in your embrace at the crack of a new dawn.
Liam C Calhoun Aug 2015
‘Round the world and pieces of me,
So speaks one body come a –
A bad night’s blood spatter in Sioux City,
Lonely little toenail clippings swept Dubai,
Whiskey scented stubble, London nigh Paris,
Oh! The calloused skin round bend,
Wrought broken, my lovely Kyoto,
And maybe, just maybe,
A heart or five elsewhere.

So when the tooth-clerk barricaded
Dusty Chinese counter-top asked,
“Do you want to keep them?”
I responded and with haste, “yes;”
And with a thieves hand,
Snatched my two molars removed.
For I’d already left one too many
Pieces of me here, and though
It was only a tooth, I hadn’t much left.
Where's next and what will it be?
Jonny Angel Sep 2014
I've left my heart in different places,
it's been slowly chipped away at.
In La Paz,
it was the chicha
& in Mendoza,
a Malbec at Azafran,
nice warm saki in Kyoto,
some anejo in Ensenada
& cheap beer in Seattle.
Now all I have left
is enough for shots
of fine whiskey...
I'm still ticking Darling,
cheers.
Shiv Pratap Pal Aug 2019
Mr. Lotto
Went to Kyoto
Clicked a Photo
Turned Right

Found a Sumo
Entered fight
Returned home
With a Prize
Let's Cherish Childhood
Alan Maguire Mar 2013
The homeless of Japan exist and are sometimes seen
but usually, we look right through them as if they're not there

I've seen them push their shopping carts through the streets of Kyoto
I've seen them eat at Mc Donald's and I assume that they crap and puke and read the news

Bu they don't quite exist do they?
not in our worlds anyway
So I suppose, that makes them, the Ghosts of Japan

— The End —