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Poem

The leaves fall in the consciousness
unable to find the spot where to begin.
The wind blows in the midst of meditation
without knowing when to cease.

Because it seems easy 
as sitting on the comfortable chair pondering,
because it feels being chased 
while running and thinking at the same time
with the passing time,
the rain falls in the concept of a flood of thoughts.

If you let your imagination go to the farthermost edge
while walking in the plain, it looks vast and boundless.
Or otherwise you look at it from the vision of a smaller window.

As you walk in the plain whether it is limited or limitless,
you will come to the riverside one day or you may see the plateau 
floating in the foggy air one morning, and when you roam in the plain
as your thoughts lead you to the way, the sun shines on you,
you will tread upon moonbeams, the stars tumble all about your feet.

When you consider the place where you lie down
and close your eyes, pillowing the cycle of thinking
as a beginning and an end, the cycle of thinking processes stops.

The tears, as well, fall on cheeks at that moment
to flush the thoughts into a marsh of the unthinkable.
A tear drops become a bloom of flower by the marshland 
where no one thought it there to be thinkable.

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