Zun Khats Isot his (Moon rose like a round bread)
One day the moon rose like a round bread,
from behind the mountains
Dressed in rags with unknotted threads,
Revealing sad, dark, stains on every part of her silver-white body,
And looking worn-out, thread-bare like Pampur tweed,
Moon rose, like a round – bread tired and dull,
Like a false coin a contractor gave some ignorant woman worker by guile,
Mixed with other coins.
Moon rose, like a rounded – bread mountains felt hungry
The clouds again put out their kitchen fires
And the forest fairies lit their portable stoves
And the rice, endless rice seemed to grow on dawn
I gave this news to my starving belly and gazed at the hopeful sky.
About the author