lightness

Under the tree
the soup and the fish salad,
or cherry blossoms?

Matsuo Bashō

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autumn moonlight

As if blossoms have
fallen from the harvest moon—
the cotton field.

Matsuo Bashō

the style of the unchanging

The harvest moon
and the fog at the mountain foot—
mists over the field.

Matsuo Bashō

the fundamental principle

It doesn’t look like
they will die in a short time —
the sounds of cicadas.

Matsuo Bashō

brief dream

Let me stay for now
where there is a pasania tree —
the summer grove.

Matsuo Bashō

quietness

How solitary it is!
Hanging on a nail —
a cricket.

Matsuo Bashō

eternal tranquility

How tranquil it is!
Penetrating into the rocks
the sound of cicadas.

Matsuo Bashō