Returning from dream, sobering up, I fear spring sorrow.
Smoke dies in the duck-shaped incense burner, but the fragrance lingers.
My thin quilt can’t stop the dawn chill.
Cuckoos sing and sing till from the west tower the moon drops.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
A colorful hanging chart with no lines.
A pure algebra problem with no solution.
A one-string harp, stirring rosaries
that hang from dripping eaves.
A pair of oars that can never reach
the other side of the ocean.
Waiting silently like a bud.
Gazing at a distance like a setting sun.
Perhaps an ocean is hidden somewhere,
but when it flows out–only two tears.
O in the background of a heart,
in the deep well of a soul.
translated by Chou Ping
I tell you, don’t adore your coat of gold brocade.
I tell you, adore the short spell of youth.
When the bloom is ready it must be plucked.
Don’t wait till flowers drop and break the empty twig.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
I grieve for the red peony flower by the steps.
By this evening two branches have withered.
Tomorrow morning wind will blow away the rest.
At night I keep sad watch, hold flame over the dying red.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Willows are green, green and the river water flat.
I hear a man on the river singing me songs
and see sun on my east, rain on my west.
The sun is shying off, but I feel his shine.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
“The ignorant speak, but the sage stay silent.”
I heard this saying from Laozi.
But if Laozi knew the Way,
why did he write a book of five thousand characters?
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Its spirit leans like a thin hook
or opens round like a Han-loom fan,
slender shadow whose nature is to be full,
seen everywhere in the human world.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Had I been an ox or horse
I would rejoice to see grass and beans;
If, on the other hand, I were a woman,
the sight of men would please me.
But if I were really me
I would always settle for what I be.
If liking and dislike keep you upset
surely you are being used:
Big man, with all your dignity,
don’t mistake what you have for what you are.
translated by Jan W. Walls
I follow the moon into the mountains,
I search for clouds to accompany me home.
A spring morning, dew on the flowers:
and the fragrance clings to my gown.
translated by Jan W. Walls
The harvest ripe, the farmers rejoice;
in the autumn wind the traveler alone grieves.
On and on winds this crooked road
and a homeward horse in the slanting sun.
translated by Jan. W. Walls
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual cabaret of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 