Summer in Kyoto

In Tokyo my eyes confused the flashing lights of Shibuya

For fallen stars, dancing upon billboards, mingling atop skyscrapers

Men in suits sit neatly in a row aboard the metro, waiting waiting waiting

To go somewhere important.

I eat a pancake, piping hot, in it there are onions, chives, cheese, salad and pork

Almost as jumbled and colourful as Harujuku, and not quite as tasty

As the raw fish in salty soy sauce served in Tsukiji, eating eating eating

To sustain life in this city.

But what is more poignant than the irony

Of a bullet train, boldly jetting past Fuji, taunting the mountain gods

Leaving only moving pictures in the window, rushing rushing rushing

To go where even the river waltzes like a teenage girl in love.

Here the air is delicate, like local deserts that subtly enchant the tongue

The leaves are bright green, and when the sun shines they glisten like stained glass

In Tokyo one feels awe every turn, here one is always just looking looking looking

Out for the small, hidden magic of every street.

Summer in Kyoto is the bliss of dipping sore feet in cool water

It is the green hills, adorning their leafy gowns and standing like proud lords

Showing their wealth and glory to all that pass, giving giving giving

A show of majesty no traveller can resist.

It is the modest delight of fresh mochi, sticky and melty on the tongue

The quiet hum of golden temples, the courteous serving of very warm tea

Climbing up the slopes of Arashiyama to find a valley that is singing singing singing

A song of peace and serenity.