It explains Itself

[Guest guest]

Countless waves rise and fallThe movement never stops.

Once I pointed at the wavesTrying to explainTheir power and their heightNot

noticing the splendourIn which this all took place.Mesmerised by sight of

movementTime and time againI 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 despairAnd pointed out to meThat movements are not

to be caughtBy this, 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 smileWhen it was mirroring the sun,That was

playing in its turnWith a cloud, just passing by,The game of hide and seek.And

this play, this movement,in order to be performedneeded no questions, so it

proves,No answers were required.

It gets performed, just as the waves,Like springing from its source,Which, as

rumours 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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