On the remoted rocky cliff, a Buddhist
Hermitage stands, lonesomely
Amidst the silence, devoid of people,
The wind-sound shatters the tranquility.
Where has Buddhist head-monk gone?
The door was closed, still.
Unswept, the snow on the high steps linger
Pure and undisturbed not trill.
(Feb.,5th,2024, Kinsley Lee)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem