The water ripples, yet remains still,
Shifting shapes but never lost.
Like clouds that pass, like thoughts that drift,
No form remains, yet nothing is gone.
A leaf floats by, a fleeting guest,
No need to grasp, no urge to hold.
It comes, it goes, it does not ask—
Such is the way of all we know.
Mountains gaze upon the deep,
Their image trembling in the tide.
Is it the stone, or just the shade?
Which one is real? Which one abides?
A fish leaps high, then disappears,
Breaking silence for a breath.
Like moments grasped, like lives once lived,
Returning home to depths unknown.
The sky bends low to kiss the waves,
No boundary, no separate things.
Where does the lake end, where does it start?
Only the mind draws lines unseen.
The wind speaks softly, then is gone,
Yet still the trees recall its song.
What was, what is, what yet will be—
All are one, and none belong.
I sit, I breathe, the lake remains,
Holding nothing, keeping all.
No need to seek, no need to stay—
The way is here, the way is now.
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