One day, a moth landed over his long, white beard,
no one saw the difference, so he left the white moth
exactly where it lay, to do as it pleases
day or night, the moth stayed quietly attentive,
antennae slipped below the white hairs of his beard,
yet, he felt their movement from time to time, subtle
as a warning device, on silent mode, vibrates
minutely with light strokes, almost unbearable,
on his chin and under his jaw, her antennae
tickled his face, his tongue curled, as if a dog licked
his face, the sensation, similar but different
little by little, time and again, the moth wove
a tapestry over his beard, no one could see,
nobody knew a moth landed over his beard,
diligently, he combed his white beard everyday,
even his own girlfriend couldn't tell when they kissed,
did the moth disappear into his long, white beard
only Casimiro knew about the white moth,
very few people asked about his long, white beard,
every now and then, words tumbled to question
reality, people could not believe in time,
his patience grew shorter as his wisdom grew chill,
in Goa, his family descends from sossegarde,
still, poor Casimiro felt no luck in friendship,
longing for his own death, Casimiro felt ill,
only the Spirit knew of his disappointment,
nothing in this world kept him in one place for long,
greatness avoided him as he gained in wisdom,
wicked, deep in his heart, he tore roots from the soil,
how they kept growing tall bewildered his sad mind,
if he could do nothing worthwhile, why be alive,
to suffer abuse, his fortune, stupidity,
egocentric people could not see their blindspot,
blessed be the white moth, to calm Casimiro,
everyday, she let him know she cared for the man,
as if she descended from a cloud to confer
real world understanding to a man all alone,
despite friends surrounding him in his grave sorrow.
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