Desireless, standing aside the world, What blithe joys, the Way of the Hermit? No merit he brings, no laurel nor gold, Nor a body to receive a crown, Not a fetter to adorn. But I am no Hermit, For from my birth, I was bound, The blood ties, the oaths, the Ways, Of a thousand past ages, clinging to this heart. The path of no merit, I cannot elect, My heart stays, to shackle my soul. The Hermit ascends upon the Heavens, But I must kneel on the earth, to bear my burden. Desiring, prostrate afore her.
Full of this mortal world, the fountain springs forth in a Heaven of words.
I. Opening
God's hand shapes peaks and vales with ease,
Wind and water flow, no cease,
But for the child of yellow earth,
Calls not flame and sword for force?
II. Revolving
Petals, caught by wind in rivers of bloom
Flowing waves o'er yellow earth,
Dancing drifts neath azure skies
Riding Heaven's chariot 'pon the way,
Never hasting, never ling'ring perfect grace--
How I wish to be as you,
To freely fly in fate!
III. Rising
How free the wandering wind of seven lands and seas!
How blithe the sojourning stream of Heaven, Earth, and world between!
Yet ever:
Let us not forget
How lovely
to close our eyes,
floating down
the river of dreams,
the spicy breeze
in our lungs,
the plum petals
caressing our cheeks--
But for life
amidst loveliness,
floating down
this river of dreams,
let us not forget to gaze
upon the blooming field,
nor to rest
in the traveler's cot at night.
Snowflakes
A thousand, a million,
Floating in the copper-lit night--
A dance, but not a dance,
A flight, but not a flight--
How light you are, how free!
To ride the breeze,
Flowing mane of the wind!
The Sea
Battered by the waves,
We let each other go,
Like parting petals,
From a fallen bloom--
The worn pale upon the shore,
The lost sink to floor of the main,
But the brave hold on,
Upon the wambling wave:
Every ear hears her voice,
The world feels her slightest breath,
But it is our hearts, not the waves,
That know of her song and dance.
One spring morn, I sat at the road side:
"What is this before me," I asked,
"Yet cannot be seen by me?"
At noon, I gazed at the shimmering pond:
"Like the water in this pool," I thought,
"How might I know of your heart?"
At eve, I watched sunset and starrise,
And saw past the moon and milky way,
Into a radiant eternity forgone.
But at dawn, they had left, leaving
A murky darkness, darkness within darkness,
A depths that sight could not discern.
As I sat, night fell, I thought and a forenight fled,
The blossoms bursted into berries,
And the greenery flowered and fell.
I love the wind's high song,
flowing through a spring mountain vale,
I love the crash of the waves,
The wild call of the ocean whale.
I know my heart, but not hers,
Nor what lies in your breast,
Heaven's high above or Earth's below,
These I can but guess.
Though oft I sing to sing,
My loveliest song is to hear,
For my own or hers, God's or yours,
I sing for ear.
So I ask, how ought flow my song?
Seventeen or fourty-one?
Measured rhyme or rubato?
Stroll, stride, or hasty run?
I ask to answer,
How does my heart cry?
What do I love to hear?
Beauty
The melody of nightingale and song of lark,
The rippling petals of silver-light,
The twin dance of flowers and shower of flakes,
The soaring flame crackling on a still night:
Phantom and free.
Haiku.