Urban Mole

Even though it was a map of my heart that I drew desperately so as not to get lost,
it was thrown away as worthless.
The map I was shown, told that this is how you draw it,

was a deception,
but I was blamed and told to imitate it,
insisting that this was the correct way.
When I was laughed at and told that lies are also necessary,

and I replied that that is just a deception,
I was scolded and told to get out if I didn't like it.
The words I wrote,
hiding my true self,
pass by, leaving only emptiness behind.
The urban mole went outside because it wanted to see the sky.

It came out from a crack in the asphalt.
A parasol blocks the sunlight,
but you cannot avoid the wind.
When I looked up to see the sky,
it wasn't as blue as I had imagined.
But no one is looking.
I keep the map, which got dirty every time I tumbled,

folded neatly.
I have no intention of drawing a new map.
Because it is something I can no longer erase.
I was handed a new piece of paper,

told to throw away the torn map.
They laugh, saying it's fine as long as you don't get caught.
It looks just like the face reflected in a broken mirror.
The urban mole went outside.

It came out from a crack in the asphalt.
When I returned after a while,
the crack had been neatly filled in.
Stars were shining in the night sky.
But no one is looking.
The urban mole returned underground.

Even there, pushed by the crowd of people,
shoved into a box,
I felt suffocated and ran away.
The box is heading into the darkness.
Nothing can be seen beyond the window,
and the face reflected in the broken mirror,
you don't think it looks like me?
Lies are just noise to a mole.

A mole that averts its eyes from the light
finds no value in it.

When the mole comes out to the surface again,
will it be able to see the shining stars?

Ryo Kono's Freehand Introduction - Click here for other essays