The Lonely Earth

Neither do the white bodies of the universe

say good morning to her.

nor do the handmade stars

give her a kiss.

Earth, where so many roses, fine sentiments are buried,

could die for want of a glance, a scent,

This dusty ball is Lonely,

so very lonely, as she sees the moon’s patched clothing

and knows that the sun’s a big thief

who burns with the many beams he has taken

for himself and who looks at the moon and the earth

like lodgers.

The Letter

On a simple sheet of paper,

the moon sent these simple lines

to the sun’s house:

‘After all these years

of waiting for you,

I feel too shy to ask:

Why don’t you marry me?’

And the sun, by way of

one of the stars, replied:

‘After all these years

of hiding from you,

I don’t want to tell you:

I don’t dare.’

Courtesy: Poetry Translation