Being here. Sitting at my desk. I see the maple tree in the front yard. It has lost all of its leaves, simply relinquishing the riches of the season without any grief; it lets go and goes deep into its roots for sleep and renewal for the upcoming year.
the sun setting
last photo of my youth
amid morning-glories
Sometimes I wonder if it is possible to reinvent one's self in middle age. Can I control resentment and regrets, master a new language, and express my thoughts and emotions fully in a borrowed tongue? If I can't, I will gradually lose who I was, become uncertain - insecure about who I am and what I am going to do for the rest of my life.
first snowfall…
my borrowed tongue
searching for words
Does anything in nature despair besides man? Does a wounded animal with one foot caught in a trap despair? Or it is just too busy trying to survive, closed in on itself to a kind of still, intense, and seemingly endless waiting.
a lone star
in the moonless sky -
one howl, then many
Zen masters proclaim that is it possible to live a life moment by moment, taking notice of the change in each instant.
flake after flake
falls atop one another…
day's end
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good one...yu on point.