Today we see blood moon corrodes
On our roof and rust falls to clouds.
In the bloody confusion rain forgets
To fall on the city’s parched tongue.
All our farmers are up on the trees,
Their tongues tasting tree’s cold air.
It seems they are entirely corroded.
All things corrode and even a moon
We had seen in childhood coconut.
The moon is made of a fragile iron
That rusts of too much rain clouds.
So rust in peace, we say in requiem.