Solitary Reflections

In the quiet snow of the northern realm, I take up my brush Truth dwells only in the pulse of daily life Leaving behind a hollow vow, I walked the northern road Embracing children not of my own womb With frozen hands, I serve warm rice and teach the brush These hands know the weight of a single grain Before speaking of rule and realm Humans must eat to live Proud swords worn upon men's waists Yet they bow low, begging for the merchant's coin Disguising debt as noble poverty, hunger remains real How hollow the vain ambitions of men Their superficial reason Seen clearly through my kitchen window Drawn from the well, the clear water reflects the shadow The unwavering moon resting in the sky Preaching virtues while leaving the people to starve For whom are these idle words upon the desk? Against these hands that nurture life Can any theory hold its ground? The famed master of Edo read my solitary reflections Scolding in haste, claiming I possessed a man’s soul Yet I saw through his fierce brush Merely a child defending his fragile rules With a calm smile, I set my brush aside Beneath a sky washed clear by the winter sun Men pile up their volumes of text, competing for self-righteousness. Yet in the quiet depth of cooking rice, stitching cloth, and raising young life, There lies the undeniable truth of this world. Once decorative words are stripped away, All that remains is the profound weight of a single soul. Rooted deep within the winter earth, a quiet flower blossoms Standing serene against the freezing winds An unbent spirit casting its quiet radiance Piercing through two hundred years of time A mirror that calmly illuminates The darkness of a lost and wandering world Quietly, the evening smoke rises into the sky A single path traced upon this paper ...The truth of this world, known to those who understand