Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
MATSUO BASHOClapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
MATSUO BASHOEvery moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
MATSUO BASHOThis autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.
MATSUO BASHOThere is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.
MATSUO BASHOWinter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
MATSUO BASHOAt the ancient pond the frog plunges into the sound of water.
MATSUO BASHONothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die.
MATSUO BASHOLearn the rules, and then forget them.
MATSUO BASHOAn autumn night – don’t think your life didn’t matter.
MATSUO BASHOSitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.
MATSUO BASHOCome, see the true flowers of this pained world.
MATSUO BASHOBetween our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.
MATSUO BASHOCalm and serene The sound of a cicada Penetrates the rock.
MATSUO BASHOSpring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps’ nest.
MATSUO BASHOOn a bare branch a crow is perched – autumn evening.
MATSUO BASHOThe haiku that reveals seventy to eighty percent of its subject is good. Those that reveal fifty to sixty percent, we never tire of.
MATSUO BASHO