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Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die

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
Nothing
Cicadas
Suggests
Cry
Dies

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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
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Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
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My body, now close to fifty years of age, has become an old tree that bears bitter peaches, a snail which has lost its shell, a bagworm separated from its bag it drifts with the winds and clouds that know no destination. Morning and night I have eaten traveler's fare, and have held out for alms a pilgrim's wallet.
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A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
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Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
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the universe and its beings are a complementarity of empty infinity, intimate interrelationships, and total uniqueness of each and every being.
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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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No matter where your interest lies, you will not be able to accomplish anything unless you bring your deepest devotion to it.
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Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
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Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
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Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?
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An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter.
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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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When your consciousness has become ripe in true zazen-pure like clear water, like a serene mountain lake, not moved by any wind-then anything may serve as a medium for realization.
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If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling
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Make the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things-mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity-and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.
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When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
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The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
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