Eyes of the stars are
on the wings of the fireflies.
Guess who is marching
in the moonlit night?
The moon rows down
on to the river.

Has the Huri squeezed
out of the gem packed
tight door of paradise?
Basked out on the gripping
bank of the Sal Sabila River,
only to spill a heady perfume
drop down on the stunned
awestruck silhouetted night?

The eve has long gone far
to wear a khol of this
mesmeric shady contour!
No one, not even you
will want to miss the peak.
Where it all begins with
the tuberoses riding the wind.

Trace your silhouette
And I'll trace mine--toned darkness--
I fall in your lines,

But I don't need saving; your
Valleys are the peaks of mine.

A passing moon and empty silhouette
keep me company this early morn walk,
their quiet company, a silent vignette.
A passing moon and empty silhouette
embrace longing of this hopeful gazette,
yet bid adieu to my faint solo talk.
A passing moon and empty silhouette
keep me company this early morn walk.

The world is dark
but the moon is big enough,
bright enough
to light it up just enough to make out
the dark grey silhouette
of the mountains
against the blue-grey sky.

The hustle of the day goes quiet.
The stars are out.
The night is chilly,
but warm enough
that you don’t need a jacket.

What a perfect night to be lonely.

This bittersweet sap slows time down.
It feels thick and slightly cloudy.
Its the feeling of being full and heavy.
It is happy and overbearingly sad
all at once.
But this sap
is comfortable
and welcoming.
I want the quiet night
and bittersweet sap
to last forever.