This forest is thick, but it's light,
Like a temple, like Athens city.
In the forest every daybreak seems
An outbreak of harmless fire.
When the sun rises, its descent is silent -
Here rarely anyone comes to visit.
It is dozing fitfully, or mist has descended.
There is no pillow
On its bed. The empty paths
Are eternally circular. Deep breathing,
Rational breathing - carefree breathing here.
I took a good look round -
The trees belong to all sorts of religions:
This tree is Lao-Tze, that one is Confucius,
Fruit has bowed the branch with ripeness,
It's given a good harvest.
In the forest grow verbs' infinitives,
Words' roots, dreams' notions,
The golden fleece, if it's the Lord's drink,
The voice here is forest-like.
The echo of this forest is unbroken in time,
An echo which has never cut short
Similar words, a forest, or a land of words,
That is a foreign country.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem