Never read this out loud, only in your head. If you read this poem out loud, tragic things will happen.
His older sister vomited blood, his younger sister vomited fire,
And the cute Tomino vomited glass beads.
Tomino fell into Hell alone,
Hell is wrapped in darkness and even the flowers don’t bloom.
Is the person with the whip Tomino’s older sister,
I wonder whose blood is on it?
Hit, hit, without hitting,
Infinite Hell’s one road.
Would you lead him to the dark Hell,
To the sheep of gold, to the bush warbler.
Fit as much as you can into the leather sack,
For the preparation of the journey in the familiar Hell.
Spring is coming even in the forest and the stream,
Even in the seven valley streams of the dark Hell.
The bush warbler in the birdcage, the sheep in the wagon,
Tears in the eyes of cute Tomino.
Cry, bush warbler, toward the raining forest,
He shouts that he misses his little sister.
The crying echo reverberates throughout Hell,
The fox penoy blooms.
Circling around Hell’s seven mountains and seven streams,
The lonely journey of cute Tomino.
If they’re in Hell bring them to me,
The needle of the graves.
I won’t pierce with the red needle,
In the milestones of little Tomino.
- Yomota Inuhiko