Beneath the silver glow of a winter night
Behind a wooden windowpane carved with memories
Sits with a pen in his hand, the master
Looking at his beloved muse, the stained moon.
The years gone by have wrinkled his skin
Yet the love is as young as it was at twenty
Like the moon, it is timeless, ageless
Such is Gulzar’s love for his beloved moon.
He stretches out his palm towards her
Caressing the beams that tickle his hand
Then smiles and whispers in a soft voice
“Tell me, what shall I write tonight?”
Shall I write about your imperfections
That make you all the more dear to me?
Or shall I describe the distant lands
Where you shine the same light, equally?
Tell me, shall I pen down how you heal
Broken hearts looking for a hand to hold?
Or shall I tell the world how you guide
Refugees on journeys with no destinations?
Someday, one day, I'll write about all this
And much more, I promise you my dear
But tonight, I will just sit here and look at you
For you'll be gone in the morning-dying another death
To allow me to see the light of the sun
Leaving behind an absence, a void, a longing, a wait
And all I'll have is the warmth that I feel in your afterglow.
No comments:
Post a Comment