An old man,
like a star that rolls down from the blue of the sky,
climbed down from the horizon,
with steps lighter than shadows
and moving faster than madness,
he appeared before me and said,
“Do you recognize me?”

The red of the evening was on his lips,
the kindness of a mother was in his steps,
unending mystery was in his looks.

When I, confused, began to stammer something,
“I know the web of lies you are weaving,” he said.
The beetle juice rained out of his mouth as he laughed.
As if to spark off my rusted memory
he laughed and frolicked.
“Do you know the method, brother,”
he asked, “of using that light beyond,
without paying excess of interest,
for the business here?”
He tickled and teased me.

With kindness,
calling the confused me near him
“Carry this with you, on your way,”
he said. And
putting the heavy globe of the moon
on my neck he disappeared.

Moment by moment, minute by minute,
as I shifted it on my shoulders,
being unable to bear it or to put it down,
the globe of the moon
slipped and fell into the water.
There, under the water,
how the moon is laying like a white stone!
Forget him, I can’t.
Move away from him, I can’t.
The moon- globe stands firm under the water.
He can’t swim and I can’t help.
Doesn’t the fallen moon need a sky?
A little family of stars?
Don’t I need light on my dark way?
Where did the old man go?