Swaying silhouettes of trees
And, ah, the lovely breeze
I stand of tiptoe, and lo!
The old woman in the moon beckons
Winks and blinks, her gray hair drenched in a silver sheen.
Arms outstretched, I try to hug her
And to take the blue immensity into my fold.
Is that bold
But suddenly I feel cold.
The naughty breeze plucks a few hoots
And audaciously thrusts them down my throat.
A patch of blue settles in the crook of my arm
And drives away my blues.
Ah, there is a sudden calm.
The watch continues melting.
Days melt, minutes melt, seconds too
Like the old woman in the moon
Who had melted long back.
Perpetually bonded to those memories
I labor on.
A bonded laborer unique
Unsuccessfully hiding that grey streak
Foggy eyes watching
The sun whose identity is diffused.
It morphs into a paint brush splashing
Fiery autumn hues.