“What are you thinking about?” he asks me.
I tell him “I am thinking about the moons and the stars.”
“Why them?” he asks.
“I was just wondering how the moon maintains its calm among all these stars?”
He replied in the voice that asserts authority, the voice that says I will give you knowledge “The stars, however bright are not visible in the morning, like the moon is.”
“How does it not feel inadequate?”
“Why would it feel inadequate when it gives birth to waves and to life, and to poetry that you write.”
“How is it not jealous of the sun which shines so bright?”
“The sun is eclipsed by the moon, proving that size is just a number.”
“How does it maintain individuality among so many others?”
“When you talk about individuality, can any other satellite boast of all those patterns on its face, where a man can see the silhouette of her love, who looks at the same moon even though they are several miles apart.”
I dreamt of five moons in the sky
As if one wasn’t enough
A streak of stars joined them
Like a figure in a puzzle
Where you join the dots
Like diagrams on a sky-map
Where you join the stars
The longer I looked
The brighter they glimmered
The smoke from my cigarette
Mixed with the mist in the air
It rose to the heavens
It brushed past the stars
But before it could kiss the moon
Dawn broke and the mist disappeared
And the dream ended a little too soon
The sound of crickets chirping, the fan rotating slowly over my head, making that noise without which it is hard to sleep now. A stupid stray mosquito buzzes past my ear, disturbing my stream of thought. The moon is exactly half tonight, the red tint gives it a bloodshot appearance that I love, which reminds me of a time gone by when I used to sit in the courtyards of college with my headphones on. The sky of Delhi was tinted red completely. The cool breeze during those beautiful nights remind me of that golden period. Even at that time, I realised the importance of those moments and tried to instil every second into my memory, but when has recapitulation ever served as an equivalent to actually living up the moment. Those nights and these nights. So much has changed but some things remain the same forever. The sky is still the same, the same moonlight falls upon the same skin. The only thing that has changed tonight is the red tint that the sky has now transferred to the moon. Maybe it’s the moon’s magnanimity to take upon itself the blame of the sky. After all they have been together since eternity, and maybe that is also an explanation for the blows it has received, that now exist in the form of craters on its surface.
If ever the moon could speak, it would tell the sun how much it missed it during the night. Sometimes they stayed together during the day but it could never compensate for other times. But in her heart she was also happy, that the sun couldn’t see her at her darkest. Maybe if given the chance, he would love her anyway.