Once upon a time, the Sun was in love with the Moon, the moon loved him too, just a little more, but they were condemned never to meet, you know, for the sin of love. She was condemned to circle the earth, while the Sun would watch them at a distance.
Love was a sin you know.
The moon was another name of beauty, you know, anyone who had stared at her with their dreamy eyes were compelled to love her for her beauty, yes that was she was like-the silver moon. There were rumours that the moon was desired by a thousand stars. But the moon loved only the sun.
When the earth was made of men, men too started loving the moon. And when men, love something they want it-that’s how men are, you know, very stupid.
I was one of them you know, one of those stupid men who dared to love the moon. I tried to bring the moon to me, you know, so that she loves me like she loves the Sun, perhaps a little more. I was to make her love me, you know, by daring to go against the sun. Oh how heroic it was I thought.
But you do not get moon in the day, when the Sun keeps an eye on everyone, the day is the Sun’s mistress, it blinds the moon, the sun is not a good fellow you see, he keeps a mistress, while the moon suffers in loneliness. What love is that? That is no love –said the wise men.
But you do not anger the Sun. He is so mighty, so powerful, he is mean too, you know. I remember the brave wise men-those who had once angered the sun, and they still suffer in the thousand long summers of a desert, you know, their skins all burnt and black. So I had to be careful you see. The day was not my friend.
So I became the man of the night.
But the night was no easy companion either, he was a foe, you know, he too yearned for the moon’s love, the night had only the moon for him- the day had stolen the Sun long away. The night was very lonely. The night could not convince the moon that the Sun had a mistress, how could he, no one trusts the night, you see, except for the mad writers and mad lovers.
So I had to fight the night too, for the moon’s love. But, oh how youth fools us, the moon would love none, she was blinded by the Sun, the Sun in whose light her beauty would bask, splutter, the Sun who would forever hide her dark side, it was the Sun and only the Sun that she had always known.
Oh why can’t men be like the Sun?
Jealous, at his own plight, the night cursed all men who dared to love the moon. He took away their night’s sleep, so that they suffer with him. And ever since then, all the men like me were called lunatics and we were condemned to the night.
The moon still loves the sun, you know,
And we the Few daring men,
The men of the night, The lunatics,
We Still write poetry for her.
For you.
