January 10^th, 2019

Without a jolt of ambition left
I let my nature flow where it will.
There are ten days of rice in my bag
And, by the hearth,
A bundle of firewood.
Who prattles of illusion or nirvana?
Forgetting the equal dusts
Of name and fortune,
Listening to the night rain
On the roof of my hut,
I sit at ease, both legs stretched out.