He speaks of the Sun, its aspirations, its encompassing soul,
He talks endlessly of what ought to be, and how to get it.
He meanders the path of Karma and salvation, supreme,
He is on an island, surrounded by tall grass and heat!
I talk of the Moon, its soothing, and mildness, of its lunacy,
I spend endless nights waiting for the exactness to lure me,
I see only the Moon, its changing patterns and eclipses,
I am on the shore surrounded by the vastness of sea!
He travels from the sea to the mountains to the depth of jungles,
He escapes to the bottom of the unfathomable ocean,
He jumps from one to the other and back to the shore, fast,
He meditates, broods, whines, and suddenly sets into motion!
I sit still for hours watching the snail move, carry its house,
I smell the flowers; see the colours of the sky; think of fate.
I sleep on the meadows, green; still wet from the morning dew,
I contemplate; guess the direction of his return, and wait!
He comes and sits, restless from travel, hungry of travel again,
I look at him, tired of waiting, and suddenly weary of the game.
He dismisses the chains binding him and roams on the shore,
I wait, wait till he returns, returns to me and be mine alone!