Baskadia

In those days under the moonlight we sat

Circling the camp fire, folding our legs like in an art of meditation

Gazing with utmost anxiousness

On our old mother story teller

Hoping to hear her tell tales of the old illusionary animal race

In those days under the moonlight we rejoice

Circling the olive tree, holding our hands in togetherness

Singing with joyful melody

The ancient moonlight tunes

Till the light dims.