We all sleep in the garden

under the grapes and cedar trees

The scent of the night flowers

reaches the cushions inside the mosquito nets

My sister whispers from her net

and I answer under the clear light of the moon

My green notebook is under my pillow

and I write in a phrenzy

Mother mutters from her bed: you will go blind

if you write in the dark

But I have never experienced the light

So clear, so magical as during those nights