IMMORTAL IN SPLASHED INK by Liang Kai, 12^th century

  

Who would think that such

a miserable wretch as this

would be an Immortal?

How stupid and how vague!

If he is even conscious,

you’d put it on a par with a slug.

And yet—and yet—

experience will vindicate

his nebulosity.

His bald head,

unkempt beard,

ragged robes,

bare chest and feet—

all bespeak the end of birth and death.

He is unborn, for he craves nothing.

He will not die, for self is only a dream.