Countless waves rise and fall
Once I pointed at the waves Trying to explain Their power and their height Not noticing the splendor In which this all took place. Mesmerized by sight of movement Time and time again I tried to catch the waves, With all the means I could invent; They were so dear to me. But all the tricks did fail. A compassionate wave saw my despair And pointed out to me That movements are not to be caught By this, a movement itself. If I am movement, I replied, Do tell me then, who moves? The wave just rose and then it fell. No wave was left to tell. It just returned from where it came, The water, quiet now, As if it never wore that form, Displayed a blinking smile When it was mirroring the sun, That was playing in its turn With a cloud, just passing by, The game of hide and seek. And this play, this movement, in order to be performed needed no questions, so it proved, No answers were required. It gets performed, just as the waves, Like springing from its source, Which, as rumors go, Is mentioned as no-movement. And it returns apparently to this same silent stage, As the no-movement, which, as it is said, has never ceased to be.
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