A night of deep darkness.
On a branch of the old fig tree
A frog croaks without cease,
Predicting a storm, a deluge,
The moon beams
the glowworm glows
sleep is seldom ruined, but
worry over this heedless lot
Hey, you over there
who are sitting on the shore, happy and laughing,
someone is dying in the water,
someone is constantly struggling
Yellow hasn't become red for no reason
the red hasn't cast its colour
upon the wall for no reason.
In the cold winter night
The furnace of the sun too
Burns not like the hot hearth of my lamp,
And no lamp is luminous as mine
Along the riverbank wanders the old turtle
the day's a sunny day.
The rice-paddy scene is warm.
My House is Cloudy
the entire earth is cloudy.
Above the narrow pass, the shattered and desolate and drunken
The candle burns, beside the curtain set,
So far this woman hasn't slept yet;
Over the cradle she leans (alone),
O wretched one, O wretched one.
I wonder what tumult is racking the silence of this jungle
That breeds a hundred songs of joy and sorrow in the heart;
I wonder what magic lies within the depth of jungles
That helps the jungle witch to ensnare man.