Memorial Day Sadness

 

Burning Oneself to Death

That was the best moment of the monk's life.
Firm on a pile of firewood
With nothing more to say, hear, see,
Smoke wrapped him, his folded hands blazed.

There was nothing more to do, the end
Of everything.  He remembered, as a cool breeze
Streamed through him, that one is always 
In the same place, and that there is no time.

Suddenly, a whirling mushroom cloud rose
Before his singed eyes, and he was a mass
Of flame. Globes, one after another, rolled out,
The delighted sparrows flew round like fire balls.

-  Sinkichi Takahashi (1901-1987)

Crying On Memorial Day   The Horrors of War

Protesting the Vietnam War
Where Over 1,000,000 people were Killed