The moon game...

And then there were nights...
Cool...windy and by moon light
Soaked silver with long shadows of palms
Falling on the ground with strange patterns...
And we would play our 'omot nwaid'-
Our own moon game...
Someone would count one to ten
Turning towards the wall not knowing where and when
The others would hide...just evaporate...
In the air like ghosts perfect...
Then reaching the end of the count
One would start the drastic panicky search...
For others everywhere...behind the trees...bushes...walls...
Till one was to be found
The search under the silver light
Would continue...
Sometimes none was to be found...
Sometimes the massive search would yield null...
And the searcher would sit down
On the grass fully dull...
Then the others would come out
From places where they had hid
Like shadowy creatures only to bid
The lone searcher with cries and shouts
To wake him up from all his doubts...
And the game would start again...
One to ten would start the bargain...
Till night would become dense like fog
Till the trees would sleep off
And streets would be vacant of men and dogs...
And a mother would call aloud her kid's name...
And the drowsy intoxicated steps would be heard at the distant lane...

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