The hill, meditative and tranquil
at its acme, stands a tree majestic,
a grandpa banyan, lost in thought,
birds on his crown sing all day long,
many different tunes
that merge in to one, and wafts in the air
the silver cloud, transparent above the hill
in its morning meditation
stands still
below the hill is a river,
the water runs deep, so pleased it seems,
meandering around the hill,
hurrying on its way to the ocean,
yet unknown.

In a boat the lone traveller sits,
as the wind blows the boat gains speed,
he looks at the mast, so white,
the sun sits above it,
vigorous, splashing light,
around the boat he sees a shoal of fish
languidly swim,
a fish, he is in life's stream
a ray of light, a drop in the river
a wisp of cloud that drifts and dissolves,
bit by bit in blue expanses,
All one, just many facets of eternal.