The path
straight ahead
solitude
Silently
I put on today's
straw sandals
Today again
soaken wet
walking on a strange path
Today
I pick buttercups
I eat buttercups
No inn for the night
the moon
shows the way
Spring
I walk holding my begging bowl
up to where?
Light-hearted
I taste
water
My meal
today
water
In the water
my reflection
as a pilgrim
In my begging bowl
the glaring whiteness
of rice
On my own
attacked
by mosquitos
I slap flies
I slap mosquitos
I slap myself
With a dragonfly
on my bamboo hat
walking
On my tired feet
a dragonfly
has settled
From now on
I won't wear any watch
evening rain
Autumn rain
mountains more mountains
mountains I don't know
Just like this it rains
I am soaken wet
I walk
Soaken wet
the milestone
showing the way
I've just been given
something to eat
falling rain
This body
that has survived
I am scratching it
Far faraway
birds fly over
snowy mountains
My skull freshly shaved
really reflects
the sunlight
Now that I don't meet
anyone
mountain butterflies
In the mountain all day long
these ants too
walk
Some days sometimes
I don't beg
and gaze at the mountains
Getting further
from these mountains
I'll never see again
Not one cloud
I take off
my bamboo hat
This cloud there
let the rain down
that soaked me
Far
from my home village
budding trees
Someone speaks with a voice
like my father's
sad while travelling
At last some mail
from now on
ripe persimmons will fall
Postman
He brings me my mail
eats a persimmon
and then leaves
Everything may be happy
or sad
grass grows
Falling leaves
they also fall
in my begging bowl
Under the quilt
I sleep
dreaming of my home village
Now that no one comes anymore
chillis
have gone red
Picking up a flower
I don't know
I offer it to Buddha
Up to
the rows of graves
the waves break
Today
I am still alive
I stretch my legs
In public baths
Naked
the discussion gets
heated
Something's missing
a tooth fell out
I hurl it into the night
At the foot of the mountain
in the sun's heat
in line five or six graves
Heavy rain
the postman
comes from so far
This
my face
in the cold mirror?
Making fun of me
my figure seen from behind
going away
in the autumn rain?
Translation: Gilles Fabre