Without a jot 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 of 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.

Ryokan