Moon

I’m not like her
nor she like me,
our hair and skin
grow differently.
Her mum cooks rice
and mine makes toast,
her dad is there,
I mourn a ghost.

I’m not like him
nor he like me,
our families
talk differently.
Our village couldn’t want for more,
his town lies torn apart by war.

They’re strangers
who will never meet,
nor at a table
take a seat,
to celebrate or share in woes
each other’s lives they’ll never know.

But late at night
they’ll look up high,
be connected in the sky,
As Moon, Qamar and Bulan glow,
Lluna, Ay and Księżyc show,
where on this world
you lay your head,
whatever dressing makes your bed,
with Kuu, Mặt trăng, Buwan reflecting
all the fears and joys deflecting,
look up and be at once delighted,
strangers on Earth
by her, united.