The Sun rises around the bend of the land,
Slicing its light on elements and the whole
There's wind, but no temperature;
There's sound, but without a comprehending ear
What is existence in the absence of experience?
What is then the Sun, the sand, or even the land?
What is depth, and what is the surface?
What is something, and what exactly is nothing?
What is beauty? What is rhythm?
What is a shell, and what is within and without?
The setting of the Sun, the burial of the day,
Of the truth, the knowledge, of conscience;
What is left, when I am not there anymore -
Where, but am I to be? In someone's hymns?
Who am I? Beyond this flesh, beyond what's seen?
Where am I, who am I, once it's no longer me?
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