The wailing Moon…

The charm of instinct locked in them,

rests behind a veil, never at the helm

like pulp of secrets buried in a grave,

pompous to be known, intimidated from oblivion

of scathed journey through an aimless cave

Yet tethered to the glaring shards of dreams,

as a rivulet devoid of her violent streams

Vehemence of thoughts crystallizing in nerves

petrified to the point an ache is felt,

as it melt and froze, then froze and melt

He stretched his palms to measure the Moon

then spread his arms to vow to the night,

to unravel the myth of redolent scene,

he betrayed to hide and kept unseen

The corpse of desire lying beneath

clouds, condensed from venom bequeathed,

summoned its moribund spirits yet to disappear

and invigorated his soul into brave cavalier

His frozen vehemence vaporized and wafted

across the serenity of night to stars and Moon

another globule of smoke shredded The Sky into pieces

when he uttered the soliloquy for poet’s observation:

Let the shreds fall,

 like a rustic boon

O god! its not for all,

 to observe the wailing Moon..

Its not for all

to observe the wailing Moon…