Roket Nereye Düştü

The full moon pours milk

and a hundred thousand thoughts

surge in the sea of my mind

Once before

at a time like this

the gentle breeze lulled the coconut palms

bathed in moonlight

and music wafted on the silent air

the sky spread out like a blue canopy

under which we walked on the wet sand

holding hands as stars drew designs

while from the thatched hut

a song to the throbbing of drums

rended the midnight hours.

The full moon pours milk

but there has been no rain for three months

And as the sun scorches the crops,

and the tops of trees

Craning our necks

we look up in vain

Hands are needed to dig

to seek water

and we appealed

some young men responded and came armed

and vowed ‘We won’t rest

till we strike water.’

neighbors came with crowbars and pickaxes

and others sent them food

Who else could be so lavish, we thought

and decorated our streets with thoranams

We garlanded them and welcomed them

to the sound of drums

Having received those celestial beings

we took them round in motorcades

we were in a trance for over a month

But one day the gods turned into demons

they pestered us who had asked for a homeland

and our homes were destroyed

The transformed gods had to be appeased

with fowls and goats

with ornaments and houses

and wine and women

Not water but tears welled up

the youth were hunted for trying to dig

an unlawful well

and they went everywhere to give credence

to a pack of lies!

The demons were incited

to rob and steal and loot

we had sought to worship the crescent

through the murunga tree

but the crescent we saw

was on the fourth day

We cried, we wailed

Then one day the cyclone uprooted the murunga tree

and the demons vanished

The youngsters undaunted

started all over again the blasting of rocks

Some complained

that their sleep was disturbed;

they conferred: 

“Without asking us?

A venture unheard of!

We cannot permit such nonsense!”

So the river was blocked

and the well ran dry

Parched crops and scorched groves

broken plams and cracked temples

and the ruined homes

the palmyra is blasted?

This is not the time to moan or mourn.

The full moon pours milk

The palmyra will sprout again

and grow erect

as impetuous as ever

never bending its knee

in the face of oppression

Let the throb of the drums

rend the late night air

Let the melody of the flute

pour nectar in our ears

At last we can walk, burying our feet

once again in the wet sand

The full moon pours milk!

Note :- Hindus consider it auspicious to worship the crescent on the third day after the new moon, but to look at it on the fourth day could bring misfortune.