Is this not the penultimate night
When the ancient skies of Punjab
Withhold their breath from envoys below
Seeking the crescent's whisper of light.
From the naqqar khana, the drums wait
Still, as a teardrop on the cheek of patience
Yearning for twenty-five greetings
Reconciled by moonlight lone.
If the crescent appears, the drumsticks flair
While cannons sing across the garden-forts
Proclaiming Eid in thunder and rhythm with
Gilded processions of pearl and brocade.
But if it hides, then like them, I wait another night
For what are moguls, what of grand parades
If not the celebration of finding reflected light
Among star-jeweled expanse.
I am no Badshah, no keeper of empire
Yet I wander like their vice-royals
Loyal to the prudence that you are
A secret never surrendered to the night.
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 3:47 AM UTC
Is this not the penultimate night
When the ancient skies of Punjab
Withhold their breath from envoys below
Seeking the crescent's whisper of light.
From the naqqar khana, the drums wait
Still, as a teardrop on the cheek of patience
Yearning for twenty-five greetings
Reconciled by moonlight lone.
If the crescent appears, the drumsticks flair
While cannons sing across the garden-forts
Proclaiming Eid in thunder and rhythm with
Gilded processions of pearl and brocade.
But if it hides, then like them, I wait another night
For what are moguls, what of grand parades
If not the celebration of finding reflected light
Among star-jeweled expanse.
I am no Badshah, no keeper of empire
Yet I wander like their vice-royals
Loyal to the prudence that you are
A secret never surrendered to the night.