A Samurai Tale Pt. 1 (ROOT CHAKRA)

[NYCSPITZ]

Men wearing makeup act womanly to the glee of the crowd
a child holds a stick of beef and sticky rice - dancing to the beat of the sound
Shogunate festival: the parade's procession is such a practical feat
as fifty men carry poles and pantomime this magical beast.
A blue dragon - it's good luck for bearing children and harvesting land
so every twelve years they drink sake and harvest their plans
beautiful women waving hand fans gasp and shake as they fathom -
the immense firework which explodes into the shape of a dragon...
Its fierce eye glows - wind carries the pupil a mile from the town
onto a barren road; passing the moon, its final ember dies on the ground.

dust settles and the crepuscular crescent...gleams to the torn battle cry
of silence in the soul of these four samurai
blind eyed Musashi - the past is irrelevant
used to cruise with this goon crew called "heaven's clique"
transcend sixth sense straight to the seventh shit
Long sword killa...Bushido code meditate
cutting grass blades half way, never would hesitate.
Rain trickles, visibility low -
Clear eye unconcerned vagabond ronin killin his foes
They're three deep, the best killers in Edo
bamboo chutes rise - a wide path in this misty meadow.
The two twins used chained sickles, Jin seemed swole
He stepped and said "your head's worth about, 16 Ryo"
old friends whose swords reflect a pristine code.

-The twins break in opposite ways on this forest road
as a circle of dust...surrounds the ronin's sword and robe
Lord Ugbo - their benevolent feudal master; they pour their souls
to the special attack that cracks backs and porous bone
the dusty cyclone slows - and briefly sadness bores his soul
his focus breaks and time resumes - the form is whole.
A sharp hexagonal pattern, sickles ready to slice
...the attack hasn't failed yet at deadening life.
the wind's pitch reaches silence...then dust explodes from the menacing strike.
crystal clear snowflakes fall. Three boys gather wood to a suitable pile
living happily at Lord Ugbo's castle-
Musashi remembers their beautiful smiles.

Position unchanged, dust falls and his composure returns
stock still, silent warriors stare - their culture's their word
one of the twin's heads was hanging in the bamboo poles
the other face down, robe torn - his tattoos showed
Jin used a two-hand grip. Musashi merely needed one for his light sword
Their sandals seemed to float momentarily as they gathered their life force
woosh - Musashi's good eye locks with Jin's, the bamboo chutes blurring
sword sparks fly as shuriken and whirling kicks miss in the mute flurry
Skin unscathed, though both with finely opened pieces of gown
They speed down the path - the town's festival increases in sound
two in the same - conviction met with the fight that it demands
blood brothers estranged, now the two best fighters in Japan.
Fight for your lord, fight for your soul...watch the demons collide
either way, the burning fire of Bushido's alive.

It's a great era to live - there's something you can read in the eyes
up and down the hierarchical Shogun's regal divide
they glide into town, grown now, the two kids spar
dancing on slanted rooftops under the moonlit stars
they run on either side of the great dragon, feeling emboldened by peers
an old woman smiles - how interesting the festival has grown over the years...
their speed erases the lanterns inside the beast and the dragon collapses
fathom the madness...
-a dojo master seeing the blood drops in sadness, wept
the parade's end - foretold the beginning of a true dragon's death