Samurai Death Poetry Jisei: A Glimpse into the Soul in Its Final Moments (2024)

Verses of Farewell

On the battlefields of feudal Japan, death was an inseparable companion. Samurai, the warrior caste born, trained, and destined to kill or be killed, lived their lives with a clear awareness that death could come at any moment—one swing of a katana: so simple if you have trained for it your entire life. In a culture where honor outweighed the value of mere existence, suicide—seppuku—was the ultimate act of loyalty to ideals and control over one's fate. Samurai were often not just skilled killers but also refined poets. The words they left behind in the form of jisei no ku (辞世の句 – literally, "verse of parting with the world"), or death poetry, reveal their inner worlds: final thoughts, life philosophies, and, at times, a glimmer of irony in the face of the inevitable. These poems are like ajar doors, offering a glimpse into the soul of a person at their most intimate moment—the moment of passing.

"My house burned down
And nothing now
Hides the moon."

This simple, stark poem expresses tragedy. The burned house is not just a building—it symbolizes everything that kept the author grounded in life: love, family, shelter, and meaning. When flames consumed the pillars of his world, they left behind an emptiness so absolute that the moon—a cold, unchanging symbol of death—became the only constant, the only companion. The moon, whose light was once obscured by the joy of life, now becomes insistently present, beckoning.

The author seems to say: everything I loved is gone—nothing holds me here. This is a gaze into the eyes of the inevitable, where there is no despair, only a cool acceptance. The loss of what he cherished—the invisible thread tethering him to life—became the sign that it was time to bring his life to a close.

Jisei no ku offers a unique opportunity to peer into the soul of a person literally seconds before death, to know the thoughts of a dying person. To witness the moment when the masks of daily life fall away. These farewell verses, expressed in the language of poetry, carry depths not found in any other form. In today’s article, we will explore jisei—death poems that reveal not only the authors' final thoughts but also their philosophies on life and acceptance of its end.

What is Jisei no Ku?

What kind of poem is it?

Jisei no ku (辞世の句)—literally, "verse of parting with the world"—is a unique form of poetry where a person, standing on the brink of death, encapsulates their life in a few lines of text. These final words, written in poetic form, are not mere testaments or laments. They are the distilled essence of the person's reflections, experiences, and life philosophy as they approach the inevitable end. In the culture of feudal Japan’s samurai, where aesthetics and spirituality permeated every aspect of life, jisei was more than literature—it was an artistic and spiritual act, a symbolic way to come to terms with impermanence.

The custom of writing jisei arose from the belief that death is a moment of truth, when a person sheds all the masks of daily existence. In Zen Buddhist philosophy, death, like life, is seen as part of a greater cycle to be experienced with full awareness. Death poems, often devoid of emotional embellishments, focus on simplicity and ultimate acceptance of reality.

What forms does Jisei take?

Jisei no ku took various forms, each reflecting the personality and spiritual preferences of the author. This poetry was not confined to one stylistic tradition but drew from the rich legacy of Japanese literature:

• Waka (or Tanka) - 和歌 (literally, "harmony poem")

The most popular form of jisei was waka, also known as tanka. The five-line syllabic structure (5-7-5-7-7) was widely used in Japanese literature from the Heian period. More than half of the known jisei were written in this form. One example is the jisei of General Tadamichi Kuribayashi, who encapsulated his sense of honor and defeat in a tanka during the Battle of Iwo Jima:

「国の為
重きつとめを
果たし得で
矢弾尽き果て
散るぞ悲しき」

"The duty for my country
Unfulfilled.
Arrows and bullets spent,
We fall—how sad it is."

• Kanshi (漢詩 – literally, "Chinese (Han Dynasty) poetry")

Japanese poetry in the Chinese style, written in kanji, was popular among the aristocracy and scholars. Kanshi often drew on Confucian values of loyalty and honor as well as Taoist reflections on nature and the cosmos. An example is the jisei of Sen no Rikyū, the tea master, who in 1591, before committing seppuku, wrote in Chinese style:

旅に病んで

夢は枯野

をかけめぐる

"The plum blossom blooms,
Even when frost covers the branches.
This is the symbol of eternity."

• Haiku (俳句 - literally, "playful phrase")

The three-line poetic form (5-7-5) was less commonly used in jisei, but some of the most famous death poems adopted this shape. The final haiku of Matsuo Bashō, written during an illness while traveling, is one of the most renowned:

"On a journey, sick,
My dreams wander
Through withered fields."

• Unconventional Forms

Some authors broke conventions. The Zen master Takuan Soho left behind a one-word jisei: "Dream" (夢), symbolizing the fleeting nature of life and the unity of sleep and death. This kind of minimalism was an expression of Zen's ultimate simplicity and transcendence.

The History of Death Poetry

The origins of jisei trace back to the 7th century, when Prince Ōtsu, son of Emperor Temmu, was forced to commit suicide after false accusations of rebellion. Moments before his death, he composed a poem that is considered one of the earliest jisei:

無可奈何花落去
似曾相識燕歸來

"There is no one to grieve for,
Flowers fall;
It is simply nature.
How could it be otherwise?"

From that moment, the tradition of jisei grew among the aristocracy, Buddhist monks, and later the samurai. During the Edo period, samurai, for whom honor was the highest value, turned writing jisei into a near-ritual preceding seppuku. These poems reflected both personal emotions and philosophical beliefs about life and death.

During World War II, the tradition experienced a tragic renaissance. Kamikaze pilots often wrote their jisei before embarking on their suicide missions, expressing both pride and sorrow. General Tadamichi Kuribayashi, mentioned earlier, conveyed in his poems the drama of a battle he could not win but fought with unshakable loyalty to the emperor.

Jisei no ku is not just poetry—it is a testament to humanity in its barest form, full of contradictions yet harmonious. It is the act of ultimate truth. In the following sections of this article, we will examine specific examples of these extraordinary poems, analyzing their history, symbolism, and depth.

Yukio Mishima

散るをいとふ世にも人にもさきがけて
散るこそ花と吹く小夜嵐

"The night wind blows,
whispering: 'The essence of a flower is to wither'—
before those who waver tremble."

Yukio Mishima, one of the most controversial and fascinating Japanese writers of the 20th century, was not only a brilliant literary figure but also a fervent nationalist and advocate for a return to traditional samurai values (his story is also referenced in the article about seppuku: seppuku). His life ended in dramatic circumstances on November 25, 1970, when, following a failed coup d’état aimed at restoring imperial power, he committed seppuku at the Tokyo headquarters of Japan’s Self-Defense Forces. Just before his death, Mishima wrote his jisei, in which he referred to the flower—a symbol of both life and its transience.

Mishima's poem is both simple and deeply philosophical. The flower, a symbol in Japanese aesthetics of the brevity of life and the fleeting nature of beauty, here reflects its impermanence. "The essence of a flower is to wither" serves as a reminder that every life, no matter how beautiful, must come to an end. The night wind blowing symbolizes the forces of nature—inevitable and beyond human control. It is both a call and a warning—those who hesitate may miss the chance to leave with dignity. Through these lines, Mishima reveals that courage and decisiveness are essential to confront the inevitable.

The universal message of Mishima's poem resonates with anyone grappling with their mortality or life-defining decisions. His words remind us that beauty does not lie in avoiding the end but in accepting it and giving it meaning. It is a lesson in courage and living according to one’s values, even if that path leads to dramatic choices. Mishima, fully aware of life’s impermanence, reminds us that what we leave behind—our actions, words, and values—is just as important as the manner in which we choose to depart. His jisei becomes not only a personal testament but also a universal message about dignity and strength in life’s final moments.

Ichikyō Kozan

作時空来手、
去時赤脚。
一去一来、
単重交折。

"I came into this world empty-handed,
I leave it barefoot.
My arrival, my departure—
two simple events,
woven into a knot."

Ichikyō Kozan (1283–1360), a Zen monk and meditation master, was known for his profound spirituality and extraordinary simplicity in his approach to life. Over the years of his teachings, he emphasized the fleeting nature of existence, highlighting that life and death are merely successive stages in a greater cycle. His jisei, written just before his death while in a meditative position, perfectly encapsulates this philosophy. In one moment, he set down his brush, then, calm and ready, passed away (it was not seppuku—according to Zen tradition, he “simply” died consciously during meditation).

Kozan's poem is straightforward. The image of arriving in the world “empty-handed” and departing “barefoot” symbolizes life as something unbound by material possessions—one is born with nothing and leaves in the same way. The two events, arrival and departure, are presented as equal, reflecting the balance of life and death in Buddhist understanding. “Woven into a knot” signifies the unity of these two stages, which are merely different aspects of the same cycle of existence, while the knot—life itself—is the natural consequence of these two simple events coming together.

The universal message of Kozan’s jisei touches on one of humanity’s fundamental questions: how to come to terms with impermanence. Kozan reminds us that life and death are natural elements of a larger whole, and the only way to find peace is to accept them as part of an unbroken stream of existence. His jisei is a lesson in simplicity, acceptance, and humility before the universe—in a world where nothing is possessed permanently, beauty lies in embracing this truth and living harmoniously with it. His words remain an inspiration for those seeking peace amid uncertainty and finality.

Moriya Sen’an

我死なば
酒屋の瓶の
下にいけよ
もしや雫の
もりやせんなん

"When I die,
bury me beneath a sake barrel in a tavern.
Perhaps a drop
will seep into the earth,
and I will savor it."

Moriya Sen’an (d. 1838) was a poet known for his ironic view of life and death. His jisei stands out among most death poems with its lightheartedness and humor, which is rare in Japanese tradition, especially in such a solemn moment. Sen’an’s farewell poem not only amuses but also provokes reflection on how one might approach the final end with detachment and acceptance.

Sen’an’s poem is both humorous and profound. The request to be buried beneath a sake barrel—his favorite drink—is an expression of his desire to partake in life’s joys even after death. In a humorous context, the poem may seem like a simple jest, but it also carries a deeper layer of meaning. The symbolism of sake, associated in Japan with the celebration of life, underscores his approach to death as a natural continuation of existence, rather than something tragic. The image of sake dripping into the earth portrays the connection with nature and the cycle of life—a fundamental concept in Zen philosophy.

The universal message of Moriya Sen’an’s poem reminds us that death need not be seen only as heavy and sorrowful. It can be an opportunity to reflect on what brought joy in life and to embrace it with humor. His poem teaches that even in the face of death, it is worth maintaining detachment, gratitude for life’s moments, and a touch of human warmth. It is a lesson to appreciate the simple pleasures of life and to accept its transience with grace. Moriya Sen’an left behind not just words but an attitude that inspires finding a moment for humor and lightness, even in the most final of situations.

Kiba

古い体
葉の先に重い
露の滴

"My old body:
a drop of dew, heavy,
on the edge of a leaf."

Kiba, a 19th-century poet, left behind a remarkable jisei that perfectly conveys the essence of impermanence in Japanese culture. His final words, written in poetic form just before death, are a meditation on human existence, full of transience and fragility. Though little is known about his life, Kiba’s jisei has become one of the more frequently cited examples of death poetry, symbolizing the unity of humans with nature and the inevitability of the end.

In Kiba’s poem, the drop of dew becomes a universal symbol of life. A droplet balancing on the edge of a leaf represents both the transience of existence and its weight—small as it is, it carries the entire essence of life. The “heavy” droplet serves as a metaphor for old age, weariness of life, and the richness of experience. When the droplet falls, it symbolizes the transition to another state—the moment when life joins the earth, water, and the universe. It is an image of passing on, but without fear or despair. The simplicity of this poem holds profound wisdom, encouraging contemplation of the nature of life and death.

Kiba’s jisei carries a universal message, which can be interpreted as a reminder of the beauty and significance of every moment of life, no matter how fleeting. The drop of dew, though it disappears, leaves its mark in the greater cycle of nature. It teaches us that life is not less valuable because of its impermanence—on the contrary, it is this transience that gives it meaning. Faced with the inevitability of passing, Kiba encourages acceptance of life’s nature and the end as a natural part of existence.

Uesugi Kenshin

四十九年
一睡の夢
一期の栄華
一盃の酒

"Forty-nine years:
a dream of one night.
The glory of life:
one cup of sake."

Uesugi Kenshin, known as the “Dragon of Echigo,” was one of the most famous and powerful daimyō of the Sengoku period. Throughout his life, he remained loyal to samurai ideals, and his name commanded respect on the battlefield. Kenshin was also deeply religious—a devout follower of Buddhism, particularly the Nichiren school—and saw his military successes as offerings to the war deity Bishamonten. He died in 1578 at the age of 49 under unclear circumstances. It is uncertain whether he committed suicide or if his jisei, as is sometimes the case, was written earlier and he succumbed to illness or assassination by a ninja.

Kenshin’s jisei encapsulates Buddhist philosophy of impermanence and the aesthetic of life’s transience. “Forty-nine years”—his entire life, filled with battle and glory—is compared to “a dream of one night.” This is not only a metaphor for the brevity of life but also a reminder that glory and success are illusory, like dreams that fade with the dawn. “The glory of life,” symbolized by a samurai’s and warrior’s achievements, is equated to “one cup of sake.” It is a subtle yet powerful image that reduces all aspirations to a momentary satisfaction, as fleeting as a sip of wine.

The universal message of this poem teaches acceptance of transience and reminds us that even the greatest triumphs are impermanent. Kenshin, as a great warrior, had everything one could desire in the world of samurai: power, respect, and glory. Yet in his jisei, he does not glorify these things but emphasizes their impermanence. His words encourage reflection on what truly matters—life as an experience of the moment, not a pursuit of elusive eternity.

For modern readers, his jisei serves as a reminder that while life is short, beauty and wisdom lie in living it fully, rather than in chasing illusory ambitions.

Taira no Tomomori

友も亡き
仇に報ゆる
術も無し
名こそ残らめ
身は朽ちぬとも

"No friends remain,
no path to vengeance on my foes.
Let my name endure,
though my body
rots in obscurity."

Taira no Tomomori (1152–1185) was one of the most important commanders of the Taira clan during the Genpei War, a conflict that forever changed the course of Japanese history. This war was a struggle between the Taira and Minamoto clans for dominance over Japan. Tomomori earned renown as a courageous and skilled strategist, but his fate was sealed by the Taira’s defeat in the naval battle of Dan-no-ura in 1185. After the battle, rather than surrender to the enemy, Tomomori committed seppuku, choosing an honorable death in accordance with the samurai code.

His jisei, written just before his death, is imbued with melancholy and a sense of loss. "No friends remain" expresses grief for the loss of his companions, whose deaths left him isolated in the face of the end. "No path to vengeance on my foes" reflects an acknowledgment of defeat and powerlessness against the enemy. Most significant, however, is the line: "Let my name endure, though my body rots in obscurity." Here, we see a man seeking solace, just before death, in the immortality of his legend—in passing into history.

Tomomori’s jisei reveals that while the body is impermanent, our actions and values can endure eternally. His poem resonates with acceptance of his own death as a natural part of life but also a strong desire to leave something behind that will be remembered. Unlike some of the jisei described earlier, his does not fully embrace peace in departure. Instead, he seeks a way to live on, if only in the memory of posterity.

The death of Taira no Tomomori not only marked the end of his life but also symbolized the fall of the Taira clan and the triumph of the Minamoto, ushering in a new era in Japan—the Kamakura shogunate. His jisei remains a testament to the purest form of the samurai spirit: courage, loyalty, and honor toward oneself and one’s ideals. At the same time, it feels more relatable and easier to understand than the more spiritual and "prepared" departures of figures associated with Zen.

Minamoto no Yorimasa

埋もれ木の
花咲くことも
なかりしに
身のなる果てぞ
悲しかりける

"A tree buried in the earth
never bloomed,
and yet
its end
is so sorrowful."

Minamoto no Yorimasa, a distinguished warrior and poet of the late Heian period, committed seppuku in 1180 after his defeat at the Battle of Uji. This was one of the first known cases of seppuku, establishing the tradition of honorable suicide in samurai culture. Yorimasa, torn between loyalty to the Minamoto clan and personal failures, wrote his jisei at a moment when he saw no future in his life. This poem, filled with melancholy and deep reflection, is more an expression of regret and unfulfillment than acceptance of fate.

Yorimasa’s poem is profoundly moving because it depicts a man who feels his life never reached its full potential. The buried tree serves as a metaphor for a life full of promise that never had the chance to bloom—his talents, ambitions, and dreams stifled by circumstances beyond his control. Yorimasa, who struggled for years with conflicts between his personal values and his clan obligations, conveys in these words his pain and sense of loss. It is not merely the loss of life—he laments that he never had the chance to fully understand and realize it.

This jisei is not a peaceful acceptance of fate but an expression of inner turmoil and sorrow. Yorimasa does not write of courage or honor—he speaks of the sadness he feels at the thought that his life is ending without fulfilling its potential. In a samurai world where loyalty and duty often outweighed personal desires, Yorimasa stands out as someone who allowed himself to be honest with himself. His jisei is, in this sense, deeply human—he does not hide his pain or portray his death in heroic colors.

The lesson from Minamoto no Yorimasa’s jisei is universal and profoundly relevant today. Life is fragile and fleeting, and every moment we delay our dreams or actions is irretrievably lost. Yorimasa expresses regret that his life, though full of potential, did not unfold as it could have. His poem, laden with poignant sadness, serves as a warning not to let similar reflections arise in our own final moments. We should cherish the time we have and use it to live fully and realize our potential now, for the inevitable end will come sooner than expected. In the face of impermanence, the greatest triumph is a life lived in alignment with our true nature—before the moment arrives when it is too late for change.

Conclusion

Jisei are closely tied to the culture of the samurai and Zen, but over time they evolved alongside Japanese history, reflecting shifting values and social experiences. During the Heian period, the aristocracy composed farewell poems as elegant and refined reflections on life’s transience, often drawing on nature. In the samurai era, jisei became more dramatic, focused on honor and loyalty, serving not only as personal testaments but also as expressions of devotion to a lord or clan. Buddhist monks, on the other hand, emphasized impermanence, emptiness, and the cyclical nature of existence in their poems. In modern times, especially during World War II, soldiers often wrote jisei before embarking on kamikaze missions, blending personal reflections with patriotic messages.

They appear in literature, as in the works of Yukio Mishima, whose farewell words are both a tribute to the old tradition and a critique of modernity. Films such as Masaki Kobayashi’s Harakiri depict the dramatic weight these poems carry as a testament to the values and tragedy of the samurai code. Jisei have also become a subject of philosophical study in the West, inspiring reflections on death, transience, and the meaning of final words.

Jisei remind us that life is short but full of potential, and ultimate peace of mind comes from accepting who we are and how we live. Today, in an age of fast-paced living, these simple yet profound poems provide a haven for reflection on the meaning of existence—and encouragement to live with full awareness and gratitude for every moment. Though such sentiments might sound like clichés, jisei offer a way to rediscover their depth.

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A connoisseur of Asian culture with a deep-seated appreciation for various philosophies of the world. By education, psychologist and Korean philologist. Byheart, an Android developer and an ardent tech aficionado. In tranquil moments, he champions a disciplined way of life, firmly believing that steadfastness, perpetual self-enhancement, and a dedication to one's passions is a sensible path for life.

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