Meditative, walks the wandering samurai, with the sword at his belt, by the green path; in his mind, a red thought as a wound open by fate. From the wound flows a thousand of images from the past that broke through his life without leaving a trace. Are the roses or the thorns that go along the way?. On a quiet corner the danger lurks; as a dark fleeting lightning a sinister shadow sinked on the earth stands mortally.
Captures the alert ear a complicit silence full of insects and elusive vermins. Suddenly, a battle cry shakes the night. Swiftly the sword goes through the shadows, hitting against the steel, drawing out from his hiding place the dark attacker.
– It is your life or mine!.
The samurai is never defeated. He was born to defeat and not to fall in surrender.
Dyes the swords with its light the moon and in red the wounds, hoarse sounds make the steels like bells calling death, agile go the men in mortal dance.
The samurai, in a sharp and accurate strike decapitates his enemy. He observes the dark body lying on the night, he stands and breathing very deeply the warm air he continues his endless way.
A. & A.