Written by Nurel javissyarqi
Translated by Agus B. Harianto
Minamoto Yorimasa (1106-1180), Japanese poet whose work has appeared in numerous anthologies. He is a great samurai, chief of the Royal Guard, he had ever led the troops of Minamoto in the war Genpei. In 1150, he killed monsters NUE with an arrow, for his services, the Emperor Konoe rewarded him a sword. At 1156, he followed the rebellion of H?gen. At 1179, he quitted from Kiyomori troops, he changed his mind to fight his own clan, and eventually he became Buddhist monks. At May 1180, he sent a petition to the other chairman of the Minamoto, to the temples also monasteries he had attacked. Yorimasa died in the war of Genpei (1180-1185), when his forces went to the wall and saved themselves wedged into the temple Byodo-in. Before hara-kiri, Yorimasa faced westward, he closed his hands while he was humming “Welcome Amida Buddha” he repeatedly voiced it loudly, then he wrote poem, such as below:
Seperti sebuah pohon tua
Yang tak pernah berbunga
Kesedihan adalah hidupku
Kesedihan, tetap menghantui
hingga akhir hidupku
Sudah takdir, tiada berbuah.
Like an old tree
That never flowered
Sadness is my life
Sadness, still haunted
until the end of my life
It has been destiny, fruitless.
After said it, Yorimasa jabbed the tip of the sword into his stomach. Bowed his heads to the ground, with a knife penetrated his body, and then he died. (Short description of the book “Sang Samurai” (The Samurai), published by Pinus, 2009, composed by Agata P. Ranjabar)
***
It is undeniable, resilient nation that is darted like a flash of light could penetrate the future. Because of her children have the brave-minded in maintaining self-esteem.
I think the Japanese can be used as example. Since her downturn by the bomb in
Hiroshima and Nagasaki, of the nuclear attacked in World War II.
Like there was something to be proud, after serious working. And the values of the elder are maintained in honor, not raised too high and then elated.
But heavy seriousness stabs in the heart, until the presence rather than arrogance. But gratitude that is never been satisfied, continue to learn to fix her self, for the sake of dignity with splendor character.
Yorimasa, like the Holy Grail of swords and other archery experts in the Sakura country, had already past the big battle and also the small one.
His fingers and hands are strong clasped; the flash gun, a bolt of his eyes resembled embers, on the swords maker forge a blade of intentions.
As if there was to be completed prior to leaf drop, the fallen of snow last night, the wind destroyed, also brought the breaths of thatch grass to life.
Bamboo trees claw the blue sky and stripe his fate to the cloud, while his frigid smile was hard to be interpreted.
In certain border, the calculations become the way of destiny. Introspective seconds lock the soul; do not doze off like a lulled dove, peck love flirtation.
Along with the breath of the sharp smell of steel, smelled by the nose amazing, and the lateral line on the arm marked that time had ever passed through violently, abusive captivated carelessness.
When stroked by the woman toward the dreaming, which paralyzed the senses, if he didn’t protected by the invulnerable on science and experience.
A true samurai, even though his sword playing like a lightning grabbed the trees and burns the anger of his enemies, raging on the battlefield;
His memory is clear and saved in the heart, as clear as contemplation of ascetic, do not miss the event despite just a whispering. When it grabbed a desire, it sent the opponent’s life to fly away.
When he squeezed, he would not simply surrender as a prisoner without a face. It is the courage and loyalty, be tough to defense self-esteem until the final.
Rather than give up, it’s better to decide the fate on hara-kiri, by the end of honor for life.
And climbed to the victory, the honor to his enemies still existed, no less to his friends.
Comprehended Yorimasa poesy that was created at the verge of death, which was signed by hara-kiri. It has the meaning of final penitence of life, despite many victories in the period of his life.
The shadow of defeat seems like thick of darkness such as blindness in the cave. Colorful life is disappeared, savory smells of flowers vanished quickly, when finished all was not on the battlefield.
The old trees are not flowering and fruitless, highly leafless and scratching to the sky without the umbrella of the cloud of prosperity. He felt life is useless, except for a pinch even to be flied way by the wind of forget.
Not the short sword is feared to stab the stomach, but the triumph of the struggle; be afraid its spirits would not drip on the forehead to see the next generations.
This is the deep sadness, grief without tears, but the fresh blood of feeling running is overwhelming, the heat is creeping in the air, to be blown away by the wind of putrid.
The dust incarnates words, the eyes witnessed his young heart was penetrated by the arrow. The sky was difficult to spell the value of bloodshed, only the intention determined the next breaths.
http://www.sastra-indonesia.com/2010/02/minamoto-yorimasa-1106-1180/