Quem me conhece sabe que eu não sou muito de poesia. Mas li e creio que outros gostarão de ler. Texto retirado daqui.
To live in Fukushima
My living in Fukushima
To live in Fukushima, to me
It means, no more opening the window and taking a deep breath every morning
It means, no more drying our laundry outside
It means, to discard the vegetables grown in our garden
It means, to feel a pang at the sight of my daughter leaving the house with a mask and a dosemeter on, without even being told
It means, not to be able to touch this whitest snow
It means, to get slightly irritated sometimes when I hear the “Fight on, Fukushima” slogan
It means, to notice that I became to breathe shallowly
It means, to tell someone that I live in Fukushima and not be able to help adding “but our area’s radiation is still low…”
It means, to feel that now exist 福島 and FUKUSHIMA
It means, to get angry when someone tells us to “stay” feeling “What do you think of our lives?,” and to get angry when someone tells us to “flee” feeling “Don’t say it so easily! It’s not that simple!”
It means, to worry if my 6-year-old girl can get married in the future
It means, to feel like abandoning my responsibilities for having chosen to live in Fukushima
It means, to renew a deep understanding in my gut every morning that our daily lives stand on the thin-ice-like “safety,” which is kept on the sacrifices and efforts of others.
It means, to think every night that I might have to leave this house tomorrow and go far away
It means, to still pray every night that we could live in this house tomorrow
First and foremost, I pray for the health and happiness of my daughter
I cannot forget that black smoke
I want someone to understand that we still live happily more or less, nonetheless
I get furious, everyday
I pray, everyday
I have no intention to represent Fukushima. This is what to live in Fukushima means to me, only to me.
Today is the 10-month anniversary for Fukushima.
Escrito dia 12 de Janeiro de 2012, 10 meses depois do desastre de Fukushima.