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MY RELIGION
The rain is falling,
Like a woman from the west,
Like a philosophy from the east,
Like time in a mountain hermitage.
Is there really a God?
The thought brushes through my mind.
Rain clouds the windscreen.
I have no answer.
When I was a student in Tokyo
I thought about death
But never about God.
If there is a God, there is;
If not, there's not.
Dim fog, dim presentiment.
I live the dim non-existence
Of a dim hazy today,
Secure only in the belief
That mother lives in the other world.
Perhaps this is my religion.
When age and loneness and the great return trip
Are over, I'll go to mother's side:
Today, too, the road to work
Winds toward the east,
And on the clouded windscreen
Rain, rain, rain,
Like a woman from the west,
Like a philosophy from the east,
Like time in a mountain hermitage.
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