Listen, Listen

Listen, listen to the sound of the mind’s own utterance,
Within the womb of the beauty of Autumn,
While the setting sun shows the red glory of her smile.
Hearing the bamboo flute which no one plays,
Listen to the reeds swaying in the breeze,
And the silent ripple’s song.

The disciples debate,
But never reach the ripple’s end.
The teacher’s word that lies beyond the mind –
Listened to, it cannot be found,
And found, it still cannot be heard.