The cricket’s chirp and the patter of rain come to me through the dark, like the rustle of dreams from my past youth.
“I have lost my dewdrop,”cries the flower to the morning sky that has lost all its stars.
The burning log bursts in flame and cries, - “This is my flower, my death.”
The wasp thinks that the honey hive of the neighbouring bees is too small.
His neighbours ask him to build one still smaller.
“I cannot keep your waves,” says the bank to the river. “Let me keep your footprints in my heart.”
The day, with the noise of this little earth, drowns the silence of all worlds.
The song feels the infinite in the air, the picture in the earth, the poem in the air and the earth; For its words have meaning that walks and music that soars.
When the sun goes down to the West, the East of his morning stands before him in silence.
Let me not put myself wrongly to my world and set it against me.
Praise shames me, for I secretly beg for it.
Let me doing nothing when I have nothing to do become untroubled in its depth of peace like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent.
Maiden, your simplicity, like the blueness of the lake, reveals your depth of truth.
The best does not come alone.
It comes with the company of the all.
God’s right hand is gentle, but terrible is his left hand.
My evening came among the alien trees and spoke in a language
which my morning stars did not know.
Night’s darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn.
Our desire lends the colours of the rainbow to the mere mists and vapours of life.
God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man’s hands.
My sad thoughts tease me asking me their own names.
The service of the fruit is precious, the service of the flower is sweet, but let my service be the service of the leaves in its shade of humble devotion.
My heart has spread its sails to the idle winds for the shadowy island of Anywhere.
Men are cruel, but Man is kind.
Make me thy cup and let my fulness be for thee and for thine.
The storm is like the cry of some god in pain whose love the earth refuses.
The world does not leak because death is not a crack.