Sick face on the bottom of the ground
The face appeared on the bottom of the ground,
The lonely face of the sick man appeared.
In the dark on the background of the ground,
Skinny stalks of grass grew,
A rat’s burrow formed,
Many hairs were entangled in the burrow,
They began to tremble,
In the time of the winter solstice,
From the sad sick soil,
A young bamboo root grew,
Grew,
It would look very pitiful hard,
And look how it would smoke,
Really, really, it would look very pitiful hard.
In the dark on the ground,
The lonely face of the sick man would appear.
Stems of grass
By the winter cold,
Was wrapped in the thin downs,
Look at a stem of grass,
The young stem was solitary,
But the surface everywhere was wrapped in fine down,
Look at a stem of grass.
Swims her intoxicated in the distant sky,
Stems of grass its inflamed.
Bamboo
A straight thing grew on the earth,
A piercing blue thing grew on the earth,
Pierced the icy winter,
On the space in the morning these green leaves lit,
Tears fell,
Tears fell,
Now on the shoulders that made a confession,
A misty root would spread,
A piercing blue thing would grow on the earth.
Bamboo
A bamboo grew on the shining earth,
The green bamboo grew,
Beneath the earth the bamboo root grew,
The root would grow,
Down grew from the tips of the root,
Trembled lightly.
On firm ground the bamboo grew,
The top of the earth, the bamboo grew hard,
Straight the bamboo grew,
With cold knots drelin-drelin,
Under the blue sky the bamboo grew,
Bamboo, bamboo, bamboo grew.
_ _ _ Look, all the punishments have escaped,
_ _ _ But it wasn’t all mine,
_ _ _ It was really mine,
_ _ _ It was a hallucination of blue fire without shadow alone,
_ _ _ A melancholy ghost faded above the clouds alone,
_ _ _ I was doing nothing, sentimental confession or something,
_ _ _ Everything was a hallucination of blue fire.
Decomposing chrysanthemum
A chrysanthemum was decaying,
This chrysanthemum was spoilt and withered,
Sad that frost was falling,
My platinum hands would touch,
My fingers stretched,
And I wanted to pinch the chrysanthemum,
Nor did I want to pluck it,
The other side of the bright sky,
The chrysanthemum was sick,
The rotting chrysanthemum was spoilt again.
A turtle
There was a wood,
There was a swamp,
There was a blue sky,
I felt the weight of men’s hands,
A turtle of pure gold slept silent,
It shone,
It endured the lonely pain of nature,
It would enter the human mind,
The turtle would sink into the depths of heaven.
The flute
Looking up, a tall pine and put to its branches and played a harp,
Put red on his fingers,
Held and plucked the harp,
Ah, a passage of tones was crushed,
The pitiful flute was in the sky,
It shone brighter and brighter in that frosty night,
Illuminated pine branches,
To the feeling of who was sad,
The appearance of confession appears.
The pitiful flute was in the sky.
Winter
There appeared a sign of sin and accusation,
Appeared on the snow piled up,
Appeared and shone in boughs of the woods,
As it shone that will have passed into winter,
The sign of my sins that appeared all around.
Look who was asleep,
The living being was building
A house of confession.
Hanging on the sky
A leaf of the pine gleamed in the distant night,
The tears of confession flowed,
Frosts were white on the distant night,
I would hang from the pine on the sky,
I was bent and I would hang myself.
The eggs
They were on branches very high,
The little eggs were shining,
I watched a nest of fledglings shone,
The moment was the time sinners prayed.
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