The New Year

Anytime the sun goes down
our moon changes its shape each night
but today, will set in soon:
what will usher in the new year;
like a match pass they will come
along the dusty road
into where the hazy winds will blow.

There , in our nostrils they will be
placidly a midst the noise and haste
beside a scramble for goats, cattle and fowls:
alive or sick or tiny they can be
for their blood only,
which is shed only for a celebration
on the poor soil
who only mourns the sad death of a fellow creature like himself
.
A bloodless fight of fork and knife
over whom to enter mouth
and their struggle to enter mouth
is heard as they wait
for the clap of the poor and helpless plate on the table.
Into the air, sounds of rockets
and the blurring from loud speakers
keep the noisy awake, on guard a worthless fortune,
an invaded castle of the placid
as they lie in wait,
wishing the night to pass by.

When all is over,
the bloody joyful moment
is remembered with the lips
and told by the proud;
how they caused to mourn, the ground,
while the silent moon and sun consoled..