Memoirs of a Modern Day Geisha

More about Memoirs of a Modern Day Geisha

Memoirs of a Modern-Day Geisha

The city hums in neon hymns,
my shadow lingers on its brims—
a flicker of ukiyo-e dreams,
lost in the glow of pixel streams.

They call me "geiko" just for show,
a curated grace they'll never know.
My hanamachi is TikTok now,
where fans applaud but never bow.

"Once, the moon watched every step,
now algorithms measure rep.
What’s a dance without a sakura’s sigh?
Just content—swipe left, goodbye."

My koto strings are synth tonight,
sampled beats replace the night.
Yet in the static, soft and low,
I hear the shakuhachi’s ghostly woe.

A salaryman buys my time,
not for verse, just thirst and rhyme.
He sips his sake, snaps a pic—
"So traditional!" (The lie sticks thick.)

But when the last train fades from sight,
I peel the modern kanzashi tight.
Bare-faced, I trace the mirror’s sheen…
Who was I before the screen?

The lanterns dim. The app pings bright.
Another show. Another night.
I paint my face to meet the dawn—
the art lives on, the soul… withdrawn.