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A small falcon is librava property over to the park, beating wings.
Under him, a mouse was rovistando in wet dew looking for food,
Unaware of the threat.
It was early morning, a beautiful morning of August often what gives, which seems
That the gods have decided to show their goodwill to the world.
He was in the small hall of the interior garden, whose floor was solid axles
Polished as only time and use can do.
Suddenly, the sword from its sheath came out, at first slowly and then increasingly
Quick, do you remember nell'impeto tidal wave.
The hawk, beaten, it was now above the mice, which had not even noticed anything.
The gods, from above, looked indifferent.
The sword went up above his head, and then finish its trajectory through his opponent,
Imagined but well present in his mind.
The flow of breath ended, calm, while the sword in its sheath covered with a movement
Fluid and continuous.
On land, embankment, the eyes of mice between the claws of the hawk had been made vitreous
Nell'immobilità death.
Everything had lasted a moment,
The first ray of sun was illuminating the flower beds of flowers, which were beginning to open
To the new day.
Once again, the breath went gently into the lungs, and then down inside, and then
Began to flow slowly. At the same time, the sheath sword came out in defence
An adversary but not physical mind.
Far sounded a siren, lugubrious and continues.
For him, at that time, there was nothing that his sword, his opponent and
Movement of his body.
Everything else was as removed from the merger.
The falcon was now away with his prey to an invisible nest between rocks,
Park.
The techniques are susseguivano, but he was not satisfied.
In any defects found in movement and concentration, and repeated the
Forms and yet still wants a perfection perhaps impossible to achieve.
It was not only to kill your opponent, but to carry on themselves
A sweet but steely control, to seek a fluidity that alternasse movements soft
To explosions of energy.
The nature, unmindful of his efforts, continued to wake up to new days.
He stopped, relaxing all the muscles and controlling the breath.
He was thought that would have given everything to perfect the movement, even if it were
Was the last thing he did.
Then fell on his knees, preparing for the technology.
Inalò gently breath, straightened his back, his mind completely svuotò.
The sword came out almost alone by the sheath.
The first cut was impeccable, fluid and powerful. Even after all movements were
Perfect, soft and at the same time full of energy.
We stopped for a moment at the end of the art, controlling the position of your opponent
Imaginary, then with a single movement rinfoderò the sword.
A moment after a blinding flash, followed by a hot wind, deleting everything.
A cloud shaped malignant fungus is lifted into the sky in the morning, bringing with it
Hundreds of thousands of souls.
The gods, from above, continued to look indifferent.
Hiroshima, 6 August 1945

(This article was translated by a machine translation software and not by one person)