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Tokyo

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Land of the Rising Sun tapestries at the Oriental Market in Omotesandō, Tokyo.

Contributed by Empriś Durden

China at the Oriental Market in Omotesandō, Tokyo.

Contributed by Empriś Durden

Samurai warrior armor at the Oriental Market in Omotesandō, Tokyo.

Contributed by Empriś Durden

The Oriental Market in Omotesandō, Tokyo. It had so many traditional Japanese souvenirs.

Contributed by Empriś Durden

Illusoria Empris' Durden En una colina illusoria, De una edad desconocida, El banco se traga mi cansancio. Contemplo el jardín exuberante, De un verde etéreo, Perforado con “matsus” antiguas y sacrosantas, Y ligado con puentes. El paraíso plagiado de una xilografía, Una extensión de la antigüedad, Un escape en el tiempo y el espacio, Una perfección cegadora. Los rectángulos de metal s estiran al cielo. Son estoicos, pertenecen allí. Son – persistentes. Crean una dicotomía: Una jardín artificial, un ciudad artificial. Contemplo el “Shiori-no-ike,” Tan sereno, Tan cristalino, Que podría andar de puntillas, desilzarme, bailar en él. Contemplo la antigua casa. Suspendida sobre el agua silenciosa, ¿Quién bebía sus tés E inhalaba su fragancia de pino? Creo que un dios dejó la casa de té flotando como un barco de juguete en una bañera, Entonces, con un pellizco de sus transparentes y retorcidos dedos, La congeló. En la isla pequeña de “Nakajima.” Contemplo mi vida. Una casa de té de siglos de edad, En una isla pequeña para siempre, En un estanque de agua de mar, En un jardín famoso, Con una colina secreta a simple vista, Rodeada de rascacielos amenazantes, Encerrada por los mosaicos de las calles de Tokyo. Con una mirada, he sido testigo, Un bocado -- un átomo -- una astilla – un vistazo -- una ojeada -- un respiro – un ápice, Una pequeña cantidad, una pequeña cantidad, De lo que, sólo puedo asumir, ese sabio anciano junto a mí ha logrado: paz. Illusory By Empriś Durden On an illusory hill, Of an unknown age, The bench engulfs my weariness. I gaze out upon the lush garden -- An ethereal green, Pierced with sacrosanct, ancient matsus, And ligamented with bridges. A paradise lifted from a wood block print, An ancient expanse, An escape in time and space, A blinding perfection. The metal rectangles stretch towards the sky. They are stoic, they belong there. They are -- persistent. They create a dichotomy: A man-made garden, a man-made city. I gaze upon Shiori-no-ike. So still, So glassy, That I could tiptoe, glide, dance across it. I gaze upon the ancient teahouse, Suspended upon the silent water. Who has sipped her teas And inhaled her scent of pine? I think a god let the teahouse float like a toy boat in a bathtub. Then, with a pinch of his transparent, gnarled fingers, He froze it. On the tiny island of Nakajima. I gaze upon my life. A centuries old teahouse, Forever on a tiny island, On a seawater pond, In a famous garden, With a secret hill in plain sight, Surrounded by looming skyscrapers, Encased in the patchwork streets of Tokyo. In a gaze, I have witnessed, A morsel -- an atom -- a sliver – a glimpse – a peek --- a breath – an iota – A small amount, a small amount, Of what I can only assume that sage old man next to me has achieved: peace.

Contributed by Empriś Durden

Omotesandō, Tokyo

Contributed by Empriś Durden

The Grand Full Day Tour was well worth the money.

Contributed by Empriś Durden

10 things an African American blogger likes and dislikes about Tokyo.

Contributed by Empriś Durden

A blog by a black woman living in Tokyo.

Contributed by Empriś Durden

Being Black in Tokyo

Contributed by Empriś Durden