In the sign of autumn, there were the songs of crickets
in the hall of the Buddhist temple.
The cold like chilling my bones thickened gradually,
and it was in the middle of the night.
The windows and the doors of the manda (place of Buddhist practice)
endured the strong wind.
And the staircase of the tower made with the incense and the mud
glittered in the moonlight.
Sitting up all night,
I (the poet) opened the book of the sutra, “Sukhāvatīvyūha (無量寿経)”
and read it about the part that Dharmākara bodhisattva (法蔵菩薩)
made vows to save mankind universally.
In the following day, it was like making myself the terrible sober of the poet.
In my hardships of poverty to sink deeply into my mind,
and passing years in the world,
I felt that there was the constancy in both the human and the insect
that did not change even if in the sufferings.
Masaya Samura (pen name: Gensai Shirakawa) in Osaka, Japan
(at October 10, 2016)