the moon

I sat searching with my eyes for the moon

And I did not know that it had retired from staying up late

I went searching for the clouds, perhaps they

would know what this tear in the eye is

But the clouds are arrogant in their knowledge

And they only pushed me to improvise

A poem of longing, perhaps my tears would decrease

But my tears did not decrease and did not tire

For the tears of the clouds preceded the eyes, and I hoped

To meet the dear one who carried

And crowned my screams and the wind

I said: Woe to me from the words of poetry that I requested

So my distress increased when the motive disappeared

And the moonlight set behind the heavens

For years I have been searching

But to no avail, for my moon improvised at night

My poetry became a shadow behind it a hero

So here is the wonder that has disappeared when it became a man?

And as you ruled when the cloud left me and reached me

That is why we said this: An illusion, but it is beautiful magic.