Buddhist poetry

Printed without permission: Watermelons and Zen students grow pretty much the same way. Long periods of sitting till they ripen and grow all juicy inside, but when you knock them on the head to see if they're ready --- sounds like nothing's going on. --c. Peter Levitt

Empty handed I entered the world Barefoot I leave it. My coming, my going... Two simple happenings That got entangled Kozan Ichikyo

PLEASE CALL ME BY MY TRUE NAMES Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow because even today I still arrive. Look deeply: I arrive in every second to be a bud on a spring branch, to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile, learning to sing in my new nest, to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower, to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone. I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry, in order to fear and to hope. The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death of all that are alive. I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river, and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time to eat the mayfly. I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond, and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence, feeds itself on the frog. I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones, my legs as thin as bamboo sticks, And I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to Uganda. I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat, who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea-pirate, and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and loving. I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my hands, and I am the man who has to pay my "debt of blood" to my people, dying slowly in a forced labour camp. My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all walks of life. My pain is like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans. Please call me by my true names, so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once so I can see that my joy and pain are one. Please call me by my true names, so I can wake up, and so the door of my heart can be left open, the door of compassion. --c. Thich Nhat Hahn--

A moment's absence-- a dead person. Yantou

Flailing madly Doing everything... Spring comes and the grass grows by itself.

FOR WARMTH I hold my face in my two hands. No, I am not crying. I hold my face in my two hands to keep the loneliness warm-- two hands protecting, two hands nourishing, two hands preventing my soul from leaving me in anger. Thich Nhat Hanh

When I ask, "Why do I brand myself?" I suffer To end my suffering. I hurt Therefore I am. And, sometimes, Cranes fly by overhead.