The Sea

It doesn’t wait for better times to come
nor consider what ought to be,
nor ask what it means to be free.
Whether it be glassy-still or not,
whether a hurricane descend or not,
it remains itself like a pristine verse,
it cannot be hindered or usurped or caught,
it’s simply a child of the universe,
joy, nothing wanted, nothing sought.
This perfect movement perfectly still,
this watery freedom not knowing it is free
sings to what’s naked of judgements in me.

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