A thousand flowers though I may offer,
Are You not seeking the flower of my heart?
How can I offer to You a fruit so unripe?
It would be unfair on my part.
Imperfections too many.
To count them, where does one start?
Thoughts take me away,
To cities and towns so many, so far apart.
Motionless You are, dense.
Still and one-pointed.
It is Your duty alone to me,
To teach this most coveted art.
If I ever get lost on my way,
To You I shall hold for account.
It is Your duty alone to guide me,
Your duty alone, right from the start.
A thousand flowers though I may offer,
And a deficient heart.
All that I ask of You is Your love alone — that alone is happiness,
That alone is satisfaction and calm.
