O my moon of monsoon
O my maiden of moon
Why thou art so lonely tonight
Why thou look so pale, fragile, and subdued
The love-tendrils of the vineyards fine have outgrown the shoots of
the sky
Where the monsoon moon mournfully moan at the approaching of the
nuclear tide
While man and machine will lie dead side by side
The tulips surrounding the apple and orange orchards have spiked their
blossoms through the fencing of oak and pine
O my moon of monsoon
O my maidenly marigold subtle sublime
Spell of magic
Spinning in time
O how thy fully blossomed bosom sanctify, beautify the star-studded-
shrine of the late night sky
O as if off the cup of love I’ve drunk too much of thy love-laden-light
I’ve become fully enshrined in thy citadel of love rapturous delight
From town to town I wander to count and court the beads of love that
the lovers dead and in doubt left forever neglected and unannounced
upon the dull dreary dells of the moss-grown mountainous mounts
O my monsoon moon
O my maiden mellow wholesome full
Let me drink off thy pitcher full of prayer, and petals of ruby red rose
The hue of twilight kiss so sweetly the tips of thy silky hair free
flowing refined
The sailing ship sail along the furrowed furrow of foam
While a single albatross is flying through the cumulus-clouds-pool
And O the mariner shot him down to be cursed forever in the ship of
fools
Mariner, mariner, mariner
What did you do
A devilish deed that cannot be undone or undo
Your shipmate dies one by one onboard the water-stuck still stagnant
boat
And before they die they look at you
Giving you the look of pure vice sans virtue
O mariner you’re doomed to outlive the doom
Death passes by, but he dares not to take your sinful soul
You walk like living dead
Your ship does not move an inch to and fro
You look up
You look down
You’re the only one living tormenting on the ghostly boat
Not a cloud above
Nor a ripple below
Only a pasted piece of a painted water pasted on a canvas of suspended
blue
You’re as lonely as the saline algae-grown board that the ship of the
deceased sailors lain beneath the unmoved etched, engraved stretch of
the ocean that do not roll or flow
Mariner, mariner, mariner
O why did you shoot the bird that was about to bring luck, happiness
pure
Now you’re cursed forever by the lost souls of the seas, and the
spirits of the oblivious siren-sealing-shore
O my monsoon moon
How lonely thou wander from clouds to clouds
The very same clouds that will bring rain to supply nourishment to the
seeds and restless souls
Yet thou remaineth such a melancholy moon
O let me come and make you a second moon
So you will never feel so sad and lonely anymore
Monsoon moon, monsoon moon
I’ve come to make you blossom and bloom
O my monsoon moon
I’m thy love paramour
