what was life

What was life
what
what rotten apple
what leftover
what waste.

If it was a rose
if it was
a golden cloud
and should have flowered
light
in the air.

If it was a rose
if it was a gay flame
if it was anything
weightless
that causes
no pain
that is content to be
anything, anything
that is easy
easy.

It could not have been made up of corridors
of sordid dawns
of revulsion
of unlit tasks
of routines, of credits
it could not have been
it could not.

Not that
what it was
what it is
the dirty air
of the street
the winter
the many errors
the miseries
exhaustion

in a deserted world

Idea Vilariño

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the heat

I clap my hands
And with the echoes, the day begins to dawn—
The summer moon.

Matsuo Bashō

moon

In early dawn,
The setting moon still glimmers
Above the mountain rim,
But even were no such wall to hide it,
The rising haze would still obscure the sky.

Fujiwara no Teika

hokku in Kyoto

Day will dawn.
And shall I ever see again
such an autumn moon?

Sōgi