Tranquility

 

Born in the country,

A full moon reluctantly put on

Her orange veil

Tiptoeing on the shoulders of

The range hovering on

An endless road leading to the city.

 

She climbed up the mountain.

When she stepped down,

It was a week later.

Hiding in the inspectors,

She did not miss

Any of the joyous free style

Corn trail summersaults and dragging

In a cloudless sky 

On a warm winter dusk.

 

Had she decided to trust,

She should have given

Some reminiscent time

To an unearthly world of

An unforeseen virgin snow

And a guarding forest

Of silent black pines.

 

Had she decided to forgive,

She should have unveiled

The untrue beauty of

A floating haven in a crystal ball

To more eager hearts.

 

But she wanted to keep the night

To herself

And share part of the day with the sun

In a mere week’s time.

 

The spoiled daughter of the sun

Dared to challenge

When there was an eventless peace

In the nature,

When all the people had

Was a gift from the sun,

When the clean chill

And momentary blinding fog

Only preluded her show:

A show of lowered eyelids

And blushed cheeks

Of a brand new bride.

 

Born in the country,

The moon came back to the country,

Not taking her luggage from

A busy world of fatigue.

 

When she was back,

She did not have to brush up

Her memories of the happiness

Of leisurely talk of

Gardening and horse back riding.

When she was home,

She did not have to warm up

To kiss her family and old friends

With a warm accent

That had never changed.

 

The moon followed me back.

(Originally written on December 9, 2012)