We call it a grain of sand, but it calls itself neither grain nor sand. It does just fine, without a name, whether general, particular, permanent, passing, incorrect, or apt. The window has a wonderful view of a lake, but the view doesnt view itself. It exists in this world colorless, shapeless, soundless, odorless, and painless. The lakes floor exists floorlessly, and its shore exists shorelessly. The water feels itself neither wet nor dry and its waves to themselves are neither singular nor plural. They splash deaf to their own noise on pebbles neither large nor small. And all this beneath a sky by nature skyless in which the sun sets without setting at all and hides without hiding behind an unminding cloud. The wind ruffles it, its only reason being that it blows. By Wislawa Szymborska
Posted on: Tue, 22 Jul 2014 07:52:13 +0000
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