I tipped the moon… a bit

Did you know that during some nights,
if you stretch your arm, you can touch the moon?
Now, do so, but very carefully.
I did it the other day,
and well… I tipped it… a bit…
and suddenly
the whole world did not take itself so so seriously!
People laughed for no reasons at all.
It only rained during the night.
The little crabs started walking straight.
And all the children slept peacefully,
all weapons silent… finally.
Yes!
And all this from tipping the moon … a bit!
Just a little bit, really, when I touched it.
I have to say it was great!
But what a scolding did I get!
Grouchy people had lost their pout,
while chatty politicians were tied up in knots.
I thought it was funny, but they did not.
With all the rain, the insects were a tad frustrated,
but the flowers were delighted,
and so were the gardeners around the world.
A few tulips were even spotted in the Sahara desert!
Crabs got well… slightly dizzy.
Now that’s not so good, is it?
They could have gotten used to walking straight,
I think, most humbly.
The fierce warmongers smiled
twitching their large moustaches,
and some even laughed
when their weapons turned into potashes.
Others I admit, did not like having their shinny boots
covered with pink goo.
But…
Someone else stretched his arm
and tipped the moon back straight.
Now it looks stiff and cold,
and makes me feel so so old.
The grouchy recovered his pout,
the crab walks again sideways,
and it rains most days.
Many children went back to covering their ears
while the warmongers develop new high tech gears.
I want to stretch my arm again,
and make the moon look like Charlie Chaplin.
Come with me tonight and we will do it together.
So that maybe,
the world stops taking itself so so seriously.

Kenza.

Autumn dawn

Autumn dawn,
I sit looking East
breathing as slowly as the sky changes colors.
Suddenly, a light shines from the West
creating a shadow of myself on the wooden floor.
It is the moon.
Appearing silver against a deep blue sky,
it enters the house through the back window,
shining its cold light as the sun rises.
Yin – Yang.
I remain still.

Kenza.

Wind, clouds, the moon

Wind, clouds, the moon.
They illicit words of love,
feelings of longing and sadness,
memories of broken hearts.
Yes.
The wind howls into the night.
The moon disappears behind shifting clouds.
Clouds are carried to unknown destinations.
This is autumn.
To me, however,
they are
wind, clouds, the moon.
Beauty standing as is —
free of emotions except for
the joy of the written word.

Kenza.