The Caged Shamisen-Player

Fair, dainty hands curl around the plectrum;

High, low; the notes sweep across the acoustic spectrum;

The taut cords of the shamisen;

Its ringing twangs heard over both the alley and the glen.

Chrysanthemums and hydrangeas speckle the attire of black;

The flowing carmine and purple stretch out in folds behind her back;

Wide is the belt around her waist, vermillion and yellow;

The day beyond the paper doors swirling with soft petals and mellow.

A cushion amidst the floor akin to a lake;

Water-lilies and lotuses, large fronds too; fake;

Pink like a demure maiden’s blush;

The swathes of paint verdant and lush.

Tapestries bursting with spilling hues;

The ceiling glistening with tints of blues;

Blossoms descending on a crimson night;

Canvas of a weaver’s sighs, the moon ever bright.

The swaying gossamer turquoise plumes;

Spelling the evenfall’s misty dooms;

The peacock of sapphire turns its neck away;

Many a flower on the ground, the chestnut barks twist upwards in springtide’s May.

Ornament of silver and gold;

Bedecked with bouquets and patterns bold;

Strands of locks tinged violet;

Irises beneath long lashes shone slate.

Music of cranes unfurling their wings beyond the green hills;

The windy whispers of the rotating mills;

Fables of castles and fortresses;

Tales of happy little princesses.

Her scarlet lips do not part;

Only slender fingers primly dart;

A caged bard;

Yet the hopping fledglings hold her in great regard.