The room is stuffy and uncomfortable:
I open a window to let in the cool air.
Forest trees shade the sunlight;
the inkstone on my desk glitters jade green.
My hand reaches naturally for a book of poetry
and I read some poems out loud.
The ancients had a mountain of sorrows
but my heart is as calm as a river.
If I am different from them,
how is it that they move me so deeply?
The feeling passes and I laugh to myself.
Outside a cicada urges on the sunset.
translated by Jonathan Chaves
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Leonard Durso 
Thanks for the kind likes and comments. I need to post more. It’s been awhile. This poem though is so true. Calm as a river but drawn to poetry all adrift. Well, I woke up laughing so it had its effect. Can’t remember now why I was laughing…
As for posting infrequently, I’m guilty of that myself. I post in spurts with long absences between.