I look up the sky

Eyes wander and wail

Stuck at the delusion,

I call it!

For it makes me dream

Of the love, forlorn and the forgotten

The Moon; its cracks and crafts

An overbearing semblance

To a broken heart!

It glees albeit in union

To the smile fractured

On my lips, pruned!

It restores its appearance

In the thin air of seclusion

My plight, it looks at,

All vacuum!

I ask, if I had to become you

And you become me?

Perhaps, it glides in glory,

“I merge with you every night

To web another love-story”

Why they call you the bright Moon? I ask

I only see a white patch

Dressed in the grey dusty blotch

The Moon then flickers in resonance,

“Human trepidations has cost me a lot,

I am a purveyor of their secrets,

Though, I am not as bright as a flower

But, I proffer a mystic fragrance

That’s floats in their veins

Making the mysteries of life cogence!