Basho
When the lightning flashes, how admirable he who does not think ‘life is fleeting’
Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die
Heard, not seen, the camellia poured rainwater when it leaned
Wrapping dumplings in bamboo leaves, with one finger she tidies her hair
Along my journey through this transitory world, new year’s housecleaning
This dark autumn old age settles down on me like heavy clouds or birds
Sick on my journey, only my dreams will wander these desolate moors
[from, via Alan Watts]
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.