Poetry: Buruburu, Buruburu
Buruburu, Buruburu

Teresa Garcia

February 2, 2017

When the wind runs fingers

Of dancing ice up your spine

And curdles form in your wine

Which once was so fine

Buruburu, Buruburu

When footsteps fall on the floor

And walk thence up the stair

Past your bed and out to the air

While you sit and stare

Buruburu, Buruburu

Stand at the end of the town

Where the wood reclaims the land

And on your shoulder feel the hand

Or the breath of an invisible man

Buruburu, Buruburu

On the ancient battlefield

They walk and they wait

Feeding on fear, given by fate

Through your personal gate

Buruburu, Buruburu

When you walk in the cave

Or traipse in the moonless night

Whether forest or street, no light

Either from the lows or the heights

Buruburu, Buruburu

When you think it is time

To ask the question, present the ring

A hand in the belly makes the bowel sing

When loved one’s eyes gleam

Buruburu, Buruburu

They are there with you

In the deeps of your mind

Waiting to feed, you are so kind

In the thread of fear, bind

Buruburu, Buruburu

Bind up your heart and soul

In the eyes that wait and smirk

Up from the depths and through the murk

That only the fearful shirk

Buruburu, Buruburu


Buruburu is known as one of the spirits of fear among the youkai of Japan. The name comes from the sound of shivering.