THE DEATH OF MY HEART
ON THE SANDS OF IWO JIMA

My heart bled to death
Pierced by the screams of dying men
Punctured by the ghastly sight of mutilated corpses
So deeply that my blood
poured all over the sands of Iwo Jima
But there was no funeral for me
no burial
Because the rest of my body still lives
Like a nightingale whose ability to sing has been severed.

They say we served our time in hell
But in reality a lot of us are still there
Bayoneting Japs
Holding our best friend in our arms
as he gasps his last breath.
Still there every night in our nightmares
Still there when we are awake
every time we hear about someone
spiting on the flowers of freedom


by Masyuki Tanabe