from my dreamy
head on the pillow, stars go spinning out to the sky
sometimes the
silly moon too presses his face against my window,
stealing a
glance at as I sleep,
bathing the
room in gentle light,
leaving
telltale marks all over
(I scrub them
in the morning)
the crystal
dangling next to the glass, wrestles, plays with the wind,
sometimes I
hear them whisper, in hushed tones
secrets they
will not tell me
and parijat, a
thousand of them, open up to the moon
tiny white
hands, can never hold their own fragrance, it spills all over the lawn
the night is
so noisy this season…
