Once there was a moon standing on the horizon - glowing fiery red
The people however wanted it blue - they wanted the moon to fall dead.
Behind the moon's glowing face is a dark and cold cratered crust;
the dusts are not moving tainting it's surface like rust.
But instead of feeling bad, instead of feeling dread,
the moon gracefully swayed, troubling the tides on the earth's bed...
....The moon turned its back and made a sly grin....
And the silliness of the ill-wishers made their nightmares creep into their dreams
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem