A moon rising In the middle of the noon When he stands across that table. He, gently discovering his eyes To the unprepared world or just the unprepared me. Then I wonder How wonderful would it be To be near to him To see the world in his eyes Those very eyes who are treasure of the world Until,, I see my self in the mirror Then I think How He, the abode to all abundance And Me, A void to all plurality Can even be an acquaintance. He walks Along the seashore Even the indifferent and tasteless sea, Plunges fro, rages to touch a lock of his hair, Roses bloom, tulips ring and sunflowers follow his face And I stand afar With the tall teak behind me That tries in vain, To reach the moon With its bleak flesh-less arms.