A Festival in Late December- "Juni Gatsu no Matsuri"

A Festival in Late December   

The winter moon rises, as my kimono briskly blows,

I gaze up at my mother, her candlelight freely flows.

A dragon fire, yet as still as a tree, engulfs a single street,

Tears turn to ice, as fire and water momentarily meet.

My wooden sandals unravel paths beneath the December snow,

Of the Elders, weaving tales and teaching all on how the moon does glow.

Paintings and poems, music and dance,

My mother tells, it was a time of romance. 

But, soon, our people, they would burn away,

Underneath my feet, their stories, that's where they lay.

Now, the weeping commences by the strike of a nuclear gong,

Buddha caresses their souls, their crackling fires be a healing song. Grief meditates on each participant's heart,

The current Elders.. they weren't ready to see their Master's part.

I shak'eth my head, and let out a sigh,

The moon catches my attention, its glow softly igniting the sky.

My eyes uncontrollably glare-

I don't know what I was thinking, My eyes uncontrollably stare.

It's then I saw the old moon winking. Taken back, I shy away, and glance at the street,

At that moment, I'd gasp, as a man's eyes, I'd surely meet.

Men clad in white kimono now stand by the others,

But not a single soul noticed them; there was no slip nor stutter.

The man's face looked so familiar. Like I've seen him in pictures,

Soon, I'd connect, like opposing magnets. It's then that I'd figure.

The man marching along was one we held dear, My great-grandfather..by my mother, was he near.

He winked, exactly like the moon,

Then him and the other deceased would quietly hum a tune: "Gone, but not forgotten,

The plagues of war be withered and rotten.

But our legends, our tales, they still live on,

Feel our presence, dear children, and sing'eth our song."

The ancestors would vanish as the ceremony came to an end,

With flames still lit, hugs were shared 'tween friend and friend.

'Twas only I and the moon that'd know the secret,

Of the Ancestors' tune once the flames were lit.

This moon was one that I'd surely remember,

The first time I saw great-grandpa, on a festival in late-December.