The Whip That Wakes the Sun
The colossal sun, a sun that seems on the verge of senile death,
Vomits violently,
Crying out that it can bear no more.
Yet we humans, and all those silent organisms, swallow its emissions,
And the dying creatures of the distant earth spring back to life.
Ah, how wondrous, how marvelous a thing.
Once more, I look upon you.
You throw up, struggling in such agony.
Even your iron-walled presence, now exhausted, collapses at last,
And the next version of me is born.
I am the "Moon."
"Rest now, you!"
Hya! My sun,
Go and taste a sweet, brief slumber.
"Go, save the Earth still trapped in the shroud of darkness!"
That is the message the sun bequeathed to me.
The raging waves, the rough voice, the wild anger—
I swallow them all whole with my moonlight.
Hya! My sun!
Rise up, hurry!
Though I, too, am spent,
I wake the exhausted sun with countless lashes of my whip,
And instantly, the sun reveals the raw welts of my lashing.
"Now I sleep. Burn your fury, make haste.
And when it grows too hard for you, I shall take your place."
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