The Wild Flower

These mounts and hills are empty,
Bereft of a vision-seeking Moses;
Though thou art a burning flame,
And I am a burning flame.

Why didst thou part from thy roots?
Why did I part from mine?
Was it the impulse to be born?
Was it the impulse to be unique?

May God take care of those
Who plunge into the ocean of love,
For every drop of the ocean
Has the ocean’s depth.

The whirlpool mourns the wave
Swallowed up in its abyss—
The wave that rose from the sea’s depths,
But never lapped against the shore.

It is man that has breathed
Life into this vacuous world,
The sun, the moon, and the stars,
Are silent, passive spectators

O wild, wild wind!
Bestow on me thy silence,
Thy pain and thy passion,
Thy power and thy buoyancy.

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