🎴 Higanbana // 彼岸花

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(Scroll down for English lyrics)

雨を孕む（はらむ）石畳　靴音だけがこだまする

幼いままの約束　封を切れない手紙

指の隙間をすり抜ける　残り香の温度で

「さよなら」さえ言えずに　季節を錆びさせた

時の歯車　ほころびても

あなたの声は　空気を縫いとめ

胸の針を　静かに外す

彼岸花（ひがんばな）の咲く頃に、

やっとあなたを、許せた。

真紅の焔を灯し　闇の根を焼き尽くすように

哀しみは土へ還り　赦し（ゆるし）は花に生まれ変わる

風があなたの名を呼ぶたび　私はもう一度　咲き直す

夕立の匂い残る　虹の断片を集め

欠けた色を編み込む　追憶の花冠

失くしたままの笑顔を　額に飾り

天窓から零れる　光で水やりをする

指先から　雫（しずく）こぼれても

沈黙だけは　嘘を赦さない

鼓動が揺らぐたび　眠る種が啓（ひら）かれる

彼岸花（ひがんばな）の咲く頃に、

やっと私も、赦された。

茜の余熱まとう　傷跡を抱きしめながら

涙は雨に溶けて　やさしい泥へと変わる

芽吹いた赦し（ゆるし）は　あなたの影を抱きしめ

土の匂いを纏って　空へほどけた

あの日置き去りにした　「ごめんね」を

月光の花瓶で　育ててきたの

今　鈴虫の声が満ちて

遠い寺の鐘が　放生（ほうじょう）の刻を知らせる

凍えた記憶の湖面（こめん）に　火花の波紋――

その中心で　ただ名前を呼ぶ

彼岸花（ひがんばな）が揺れるたび　胸の棘がほどけていく

あなたの影と肩寄せ　微笑みを写し合う

哀しみは土へ還り　赦し（ゆるし）は花に生まれ変わる

もう二度と逢えなくても　ここでともに咲く

そして――

彼岸花（ひがんばな）の咲く頃に、

やっとあなたを、許せた。

💌「Higanbana」を聴いてくれてありがとう。

これは、MORIMOTOへの“花”の投稿として書いたものです。

この曲は、すぐに訪れるのではなく、雨と時間にやわらかく耕された土から

ゆっくりと花のように育っていく、そんな「赦し」についての静かな瞑想です。

秋分の頃にほろ苦く咲く彼岸花は、

この歌にぴったりの象徴となりました。

過去と未来、生と死、哀しみと解放のあいだに咲く、一本の境界線のような花。

たとえきちんと別れを告げられなくても、

たとえもう二度と会えなくても、

もしかしたら私たちは、それでも咲くのかもしれない──

哀しみの、その向こう側で。

Footsteps echo on rain-soaked stones, the world held breathless in stillness.

A child's promise left unopened—like a letter sealed by fear.

Your scent still lingers through my fingers, faint warmth I can’t quite hold.

I let the seasons rust away… without a proper goodbye.

Though time’s gears grind and fray apart,

your voice threads softly through the air—

lifting the needle from my heart.

When the red lilies bloom again,

I finally forgave you.

Like crimson flames against the dark,

burning the roots of sorrow clean.

Grief returns to the soil beneath,

and in its place, forgiveness grows—

Each time the wind calls out your name,

I bloom anew, once more.

The scent of rain still clings to the air, as I gather broken rainbows,

weaving missing colors into a crown of fading memories.

I place your long-lost smile upon my brow,

watering it with light that spills through the attic window.

Though teardrops slip from fingertips,

silence won’t excuse the lies—

Each time my heartbeat stirs the dust,

a sleeping seed awakens.

When the red lilies bloom again,

at last, I too was forgiven.

Wrapped in the afterglow of dusk,

I cradle every scar with care.

Tears dissolve into the rain,

and soften into gentle mud.

The bud of grace now cradles you,

and drifts upward, scented with earth.

The "I'm sorry" I abandoned long ago—

I raised it gently in moonlit glass.

Now, the air fills with cricket song,

and a distant temple bell tolls the hour of release.

On the frozen lake of memory,

a ripple, bright with fire—

And at its heart, I whisper your name.

Each time the lilies start to sway,

the thorns inside my chest unwind.

Beside your shadow, shoulder to shoulder,

our smiles reflect like mirrors.

Grief returns to the soil beneath,

and in its place, forgiveness grows—

Even if we never meet again,

we’ll bloom here, side by side.

And so—

When the red lilies bloom again,

I finally forgave you.

Higanbana (彼岸花) – Known as the red spider lily (Lycoris radiata), this flower is often seen near temples or graveyards in Japan, where it blooms around the autumn equinox. "Higan" (彼岸) refers to the "other shore" in Buddhist cosmology—the realm beyond life, symbolizing death, enlightenment, or spiritual reunion. The flower carries layered meanings: sorrow, goodbyes, reincarnation, and ephemeral beauty. In this song, it becomes a powerful metaphor for letting go, healing, and blooming again after grief.

Hōjō (放生) – A Buddhist ritual of releasing captive animals, symbolizing compassion and the freeing of karmic burdens. Here, it reflects emotional release.

💌 Thank you for listening to "Higanbana."

Written as a "Flower" offering for MORIMOTO. This piece is a quiet meditation on forgiveness, the kind that doesn't arrive all at once, but grows like a flower after the soil has been softened by rain and time. The red spider lily, with its bittersweet bloom around the equinox, became the perfect symbol for this song: a line between past and future, life and afterlife, sorrow and release.

Even if we never say goodbye properly, even if we can’t meet again, maybe we still bloom... just on the other side of grief.