Beauty is inane without the observer.
Like the moon,
It’s just a rock spinning around in space,
but our ability to envisage beauty brings meaning to it’s craters and it’s glow.
The poet writes–
‘The moon changes it’s shape every night, sometimes being there completely, ko sometimes sharing a part of it and sometimes hiding in the dark, but it is never distant, it never abandons you’ –
———
© rahulrimalpoetry
2 am,
memories of you coincide with the
ticks of the second hand,
cross-legged on my sofa bed,
I can feel the fantasies play over my head
As the dim table lamp flickers,
trying to convey a message in codes
I couldn’t understand.
The breeze outside moves like waves,
hitting and missing my skin as it sways,
The sparrows lay quiet, the stray dogs tired,
the clouds tiptoe with no slippers on,
like a thief that has retired.
And the gentle moon abide,
let the clouds steal all of her bright.
A soft lightning illuminates the night sky,
a silent thunder sparks far from my sight.
I have been dedicating my 2 ams in your memories, darling.
And the 2 ams have been dedicating it’s tranquility to me in return.
My letters