Wandering Thought # 99

Things, in the end, will not be alright, and it is unrealistic to expect them to be so. Life will falter, sickness will creep in, relationships you value will be torn, friends and lovers will one day be strange as ghosts, everything will change, nothing you love will remain the same, and, in the end, sooner or later, you yourself will disappear without ever having felt like you have had enough, or that you have fulfilled all your dreams, or resolved the puzzle of life. If you can truly face this fact, deeply, without closing your heart, you will attain internal peace, and will be able to dance in the rain for a little while. You will give all you can give, and you will know the gratitude of love.

Haibun # 5

As I sip my morning tea, the autumn sun outside, like a warm, tender wave falls over the trees in the garden. Beside me, on the desk, a book calls to be read, as though it were the tender eyes of a woman I love, inviting me to delve into them. My heart is filled with a strange stillness and calm as leaves falls all around.

Autumn morning…
in all beginnings is sown
the seed of their end

Haiku # 659

Clinging to summer’s heat
the autumn rain balming
the lips of flowers

~

On her white petals
the autumn rain clinging
to summer’s heat

~

Steering the rudder
the boat staggers
as drunk as he

~

This path to nowhere
I walk it alone
with nothing but a bag

~

Deathbed haiku…
the poet’s last breath
returns to the sky

~

Photograph by Jai Johnson

…قلبي وما بقي منه
طيور تهاجر
في قمر الخريف

Haiku # 441

Her savage ancestry…
in dawn’s silence
the moon’s white flower

~

Her savage skin…
under the full moon
a sea of waving flowers

~

In the dawn breeze
the falling dewdrops
too silent to be heard

~

Beautiful death…
all at once the camellia
giving her head

~

If death is white
flower-heads falling
in a pond of moonlight

Tsuchii Bansui – Moon over the ruined castle

Spring in its tall towers, flower-viewing banquets,
The wine-cup passed and glinting in the light
Streaming through pine branches a thousand ages:
That moonlight of the past – where is it now?

Autumn: the white hoarfrost across the camp,
Counting the wild geese, crying as they flew:
Light of the past flashing on row on row
Of planted swords: that light – where is it now?

Now, over the ruined castle the midnight moon,
Its light unchanged; for whom does it shine?
In the hedge, only the laurel left behind:
In the pines, only the wind of the storm still sings.

High in the heavens the light remains unchanged.
Glory and decay are the mark of this shifting earth.
Is it to copy them now, brighter yet,
Over the ruined castle the midnight moon?

— Tsuchii Bansui – Moon over the ruined castle