Hirai by shuhari

亡霊 with shuhari
ここは帰路、地下鉄の中
墓地の地下の脇をまたぐ
冷たいクルマに身をゆだね
一日の労働で流した冷や汗やら
涙やら、飛ばした唾やら
ありとあらゆる酸っぱい液体を
背負い込んだ人の渦に巻き込まれながら
ズブズブと音を立て引きずりこまれそうな
重い身体を吊り輪に寄りかからせながら
YO、調子はどう？
青い顔した男が静かに話しかける
見慣れた顔だ
毎日、何処かですれ違っているような
ただ、決して話しかけてくる事はなかった。
よお、亡霊
耳元で聞こえるその深いため息のような問いかけは
夕刻のラッシュの軋轢をモノともせず
静かに俺の耳に注がれ、
髄まで届き、骨を軋ませる。
やがて、冷たいクルマは地上に出て
真っ暗闇な西へと向かう
その先に待っているものは何だ？
掴まる手すりの向こう側に映り込む
どす黒い多摩川を眺めながら
その男は呟き続ける
今日、お前が掛けた人生を語ろうじゃないか
一歩でも夢に近づいたのか？
誰も考えた事もない新しい方程式に出会えたのか？
深い愛を称えた水の流れのなかで覚醒したのか？
それとも、守れない約束を約束し打ちひしがれたのか？
その首にぶら下がる絶望という名の首輪だ
感じてみろ、その重みを
その綱の重みで鎌首もたげ覗けるのは足元に
滲むお前自身の涙だとしたら？
底無しの深い哀しみの更なる底を覗き込み
薄暗い部屋の片隅に、縮こまり動けなくなっている？
平衡感覚機能を失い
色を感じとる潤いを失い
光を感じる柔らかさを失い
味覚の先の憂いを失い
風を聞く喜びを失い
存在しない影に見失い
絶望に抗う様に喚いたのか？
酸っぱさの充満する車両に揺られ
どす黒い車窓に反射するおのれ自身のやつれ
疲れた姿が　ふと、語りかけるのを止めた
誰からもお前の生き方を指図されるな
羽の先を一舐めし風の行方を探そう
強く、もっと強く吹き荒れる風に向かって行こう
身体全身に力強い風を受け
斜め四十五度ぐらい傾けて生きよう
さらに高く飛べるはずさ
Hello Ghost with Shuhari
Here, on the way home, in the subway.
In the cold train that crosses under the cemetery.
Surrendering my body to it, carrying the cold sweat, the tears,
the spit that I let fly during the day's labor,
caught in a whirl of people burdened with all sourness,
I’m being sucked in, almost sinking as I lean on the handrail
with my heavy body.
"Hello, how’s it going?"
A pale-faced man quietly speaks to me. A familiar face.
Like someone I pass by every day. But he’s never spoken ever.
"Hello, ghost"
That deep sigh-like question whispered, penetrates the friction of
the evening rush hour and quietly pours into my ear,
reaching my marrow, making my bones creak.
The cold train surfaces, heading west into the dark.
What awaits at the end of this railway? As I gaze at the murky
Tama River reflected beyond the handrail I’m gripping, the man keeps muttering:
“Let’s talk about the life you’ve gambled on today.
Did you take even one step closer to your dream?
Did you encounter a new equation no one has ever thought of before?
Did you awaken in the flow of water, praising deep love?
Or were you crushed by promises you couldn’t keep?”
That collar called despair around your neck- Feel its weight.
If that weight makes you bow your head, and the tears welling up
at your feet are your own,
are you peering into the deepest depths of bottomless sorrow,
curled up in the corner of a dimly lit room, unable to move?
Losing your sense of balance, losing the moisture to feel color,
losing the softness to sense light, losing the melancholy at the tip of your taste,
losing the joy to hear the wind, and losing yourself in shadows that don’t exist.
Did you scream in defiance of despair?
Swayed by the sourness that fills the train, the reflection of your own
weary self in the dark window suddenly stops speaking.
Don’t let anyone lead how you live.
Lick the tip of your wing, and search for the wind’s path.
Let’s head toward the stronger, fiercer wind.
Face it with all your strength, tilting yourself about 45 degrees.
So that you can fly even higher.