Kiri no Kimono

She kneels beside the stream,
Silk brushed by moonlight,
Her hands are marked,
faint scars tracing fingers,
Worn like armor,
A subdued pride,

The flute rests lightly on her lips,
a sad song she no longer owns,
A heavy presence in the air,
melody drifting, echoing along the stream,

They claim that,
she once loved,
But now she plays,
only for water, wind, and dying days,
Her flute speaks what she will not feel,
a noble cold the night won’t steal.

The wind pauses to listen,
but she does not play for it.

Even the stars
seem too warm for her.
They blink,
but do not reach.

She does not look up.
Not when petals fall,
not when the earth shifts,
Her silence is not fragile,
but chosen,

Her scars do not soften her,
They decorate her pride,
They do not speak of pain,
but of distance earned
and never crossed.

And when the final note fades,
her form begins to dissolve,
unraveling like silk undone,
lost into the mist,

the silent kimono fades,
until she is nothing
but a memory in the night.

Image generated by AI.