Sometimes the pool in
which the moon
Grows and boughs thrive,
it turns boisterous
It makes the moonbeams bob, then split
like small white lilies over its silvery surface;
and
With that, when night
begins to slip into darkness….
The invisibles yearn for
visibility.
The very fortunate people
behold
This perfect unification.
A little boy standing
under the stars
captures the shadow-thick night, my!
He slips out with a
catapult in one hand
and a bunch of balloons pinched
between his fingers.
Clarity of blue night rip
opens
the bow-shaped moon before him,
The cacophony of tree crickets enters
unwittingly.
A burst of fireflies’
gleam, then one tiptoes upon his cheeks.
His eyes glow like the moonbeams….
Outdoor is freedom-a pleasurable state of mind.
Life
with moon, crickets, fireflies is picnic.
‘You bring your own
weather to a picnic’ the wise sits and sings….
The boy weaves himself in the
plumes of moonlight, ….and murmurs,
‘ I’ll be splashing about
in the moonbeams tonight’!!
He goes down on his knees,
stares into the pool
Dips his feet in the waves…
The moon shrugs and laughs,
and then
Balances crookedly with those white frolicking
lilies.
Strung on its chain the susurrus
of breeze, calls, notes keep leaping….
The country music plays in
a distance,
The boy lets out the
breadth he’s been holding,
And releases the balloons
unmindfully….
Twisting, turning and wriggling the balloons
slowly
disappear in his garden of stars.
The boy gulps lungsful of
life-saving oxygen.
His heart grows immense....
The night pass...
