The sky was still
lit and the stars only half awaken.
On the east side,
the satellite lay hung
It is a part of
this Earth, only brighter
A rock was once
loose in the Chaos
It hit the subtle
earth, loosening a globe of white and black.
I chose to sit down
and write a black lettered poem,
Now I realise my
words cannot realize
The white moon
Scattering the
darkness away with its sunlit golden scent.
But poems cannot
describe
What a tragedy in a
prose can only dare to narrate,
A picture is a
still image,
While words flow
like unbidden Lethe.
Let me thus
grudgingly proclaim that
No medium is
complete enough to pour in the moon
In a vessel, which
is only as unscathed as the goddess Mnemosyne.
