Wednesday, June 18, 2014

A Poem by Ryokan


On a quiet evening in my thatched-roof hut,
alone I play a lute with no string.
Its melody enters winds and cloud,
mingles deeply with a flowing stream,
fills out the dark valley,
blows through the vast forest, then disappears.
Other than those who hear emptiness,
who will capture this rare sound?

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