The Moon


From the waning yellow moon:
Hangs the night’s drunkenness,
And in the sands somewhere!
There is a stirring of silence,
Like the stifled murmurs
Of someone unkissed, unloved –
Who prays for unanswered prayers
To the waning yellow moon.


Against this muzzled backdrop:
All along the coastal line,
Afar, Afar, Afar!
The pearl-diving waves are sore
By the precision
Of their rising-ebbing mood.
Faintly gleaming, The Empty Quarter gazes on:
Fixedly at the waning yellow moon.




Geeta Chhabra

(From the book: An Indian Ode to The Emirates by Geeta Chhabra)


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