What if the Moon
was the second sun?

who couldn't be brighter,
who could not give life,

one who was devoid of love
and decided eventually to float alone

only to attract the oceans
and see the people
sigh over love
like himself
for eternity

the lost city of the Incas,
survives and breathes
with this cataclysmic vegetation
still malignant and undying
to conjure divinity
for those lack,
in the purest form,

it awed Neruda and Che
with the shimmer of the first light,
the smell is a poisonous offering,
the view is like an unforgotten love,

most of the nights in my sleep
I come back from there
and some of the nights
I wish I could never.

it is upto us
to choose,

whether these times
are going to be long
forgotten years,
rotten with bigotry,
stinking of nothingness

or as a testimony
for the times when we
burned our minds and souls
as embers on a cursed night
to never look for the sky ever
in search of a false hope.

His symphony,
blossomed the wrecked hearts
and compelled the angels
to descend from heavens

He then smiled
to the godly creations in awe,
bowed and left

for he had his own demons
to exercise and control
every single night

an angel was the last thing
he wanted