The Moon Of Our Tradition

“Shhh!

Silence everywhere.

Here comes the moon of tradition.

When our children come out on Sundays,

As the night’s brightest light pays a visit,

It would be fiercely dark

Before the stars come into view,

To usher in our night’s lantern,

Curved like a mango seed,

Then pumped into an oval balloon,

Exposing a woman in action.

We take our sitting position in a circle,

Legs inwardly folded as in yoga.

Fireflies hover around us to cheer,

Bearing witness that we keep to tradition.

And although nights like this come with their haunts,

We have no cause to fear the haunter;

After all,

We are in agreement with our ancestors.

“Shhh!

Silence everywhere.

Here is the moon of tradition.

The custodian stands in the midst

Of our sitting formation.

He becomes one with the character

He wants to portray to us.

He sings songs that awaken

Our love for our clan,

And we sing along.

We clap, we shout, we sway our bodies.

He chants to the air, “Story! Story!”

We resound with a loud “Story!” in return,

He says, “Once upon a time,”

Such a time in our lives,

That we will never forget.

Ask us anything about

The Moon of Our Tradition,

And we will tell you everything,

Even with our eyes closed.