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Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.

Matsuo Basho

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Matsuo Basho
Age: 50 †
Born: 1644
Born: January 1
Died: 1694
Died: November 28
Artist
Poet
Writer
Vaxjo
Matsuo Basho
Bashō
Bashô
Basho
Matsuo Bashou
Pained
Flowers
Flower
True
Come
World

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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
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I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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The oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.
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Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?
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Go to the pine if you want to learn about the pine, or to the bamboo if you want to learn about the bamboo. And in doing so, you must leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Otherwise you impose yourself on the object and you do not learn.
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The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
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I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
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The haiku that reveals seventy to eighty percent of its subject is good. Those that reveal fifty to sixty percent, we never tire of.
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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
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Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
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An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter.
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