XXXV by Antonio Machado

Consciousness takes two forms. One is light, the other patience. One involves shining some light into the depths of the sea;
the other on waiting it out,
with a pole or net, waiting for
the fish, like a fisherman.
Tell me, which is better?

The consciousness of the visionary who watches live fish
in the watery depths, fugitives
that will never be caught,
or this cursed job
of tossing up on the sand,
dead, the fish of the sea?

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