A Poem For Saturday
The Human Route
Coming empty-handed, going empty-handed, that is human.
When you are born, where do you come from?
When you die, where do you go?
Life is like a floating cloud, which disappears.
The floating cloud itself originally does not exist.
Life and Death, coming and going, are also that.
But there is one thing that always remains clear.
It is pure and clear,
Not depending on life and death.
Then what is the one pure and clear thing.
-Traditional Chinese Poem
From One Hundred Days Of Solitude, by Jane Dobisz