This is the perfect poem of reality and concepts written by a Polish Nobel Laureate named Wislawa Symborska. VIEW WITH A GRAIN OF SAND.
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.
Our glance,our touch mean,nothing to it.It doesn't feel itself seen and touched.And that itt fell on the windowsill its only our experience,not its.For it,it is no different from falling on anything else with no assurance that it has finished falling or that it is falling still.
the window has a wonderful view of a lake,but the view doesn't view itself.It exists in this world colorless,shapeless,soundless,odorless,and painless.
the lake's floor exists floorlessly,and its shore exists shorelessly.Its water feels itself neither wet nor dry and its waves to themselves are neither singular or 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 clous.The wind reffles it,its ony reason being that it blows. A second passes.A second second.A third.But they're three seconds only for us.
Time has passed like a courier with urgent news.But that's just our simile.The character is invented,his haste is make-believe.His news inhuman.
Originally written by Wislawa Symborska.
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