that night with the crescent moon
that’s what I want in life.
We see, we laugh, we cry at the end,
no message to preach!
a blank page!
strangely, we do not have a word for sunrise
so common for one and the same,
Your thoughts up there.
the early morning raga
in your sitar strings
struggles between song and sigh.
sooner or later, equalises us all,
the word loneliness,
that can never protect us.