The symphony of crickets,
the silence of the shadows
and the tired reluctant hoof beats.
The trees and grasses were statues.
The brightness of the night could not lie:
his horse was white.
He stopped by the river,
stooped to look on the water,
and he saw a black bird hover in the sky
close to the bleeding moon.
Bleeding moon? He thought for a while,
then the ripples of the water
carried all: the moon, the bird,
the thoughts, the memories, all.
Then he proceeded
amidst the symphony of crickets,
the silence of the shadows
and the tired reluctant hoof beats.

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Papa Osmubal is a poet-artist from Macau, Southern China.