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...