The wind version of this sounds better with a light breeze rather than a full blown typhoon

I wear a mask, but not for disguise, I wash my food before your eyes. A masked bandit, clever and sly,

I have no voice, yet I can roar, I have no hands, yet sculpt the shore. I travel far across the deep, And softly rock the ships to sleep. I can be caught but never bound, I crash to earth without a sound

I dance upon a liquid stage, twisting under a bright embrace. I exist only as a reflection, enlightening that which once seemed dull. Without a sun over my head I have no halo, as I’m dead. What am I?

Sadly, it can't fry rice. It has cousins who are lice.