How cryptic the moon is,
As it can beam bright,
Bereft of its own light.
As it accompanies every night owl,
Without taking a flight with their souls.
As it absorbs every midnight gazer's woes,
Without howling a word or clues.
As it unites two lovers,
Without engendering a bridge between the two souls;
Truly, how cryptic the moon is!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem