By Riya Jain
Always a moonlight in my sparkles,
To the Sun that shines on the world.
Distant and shallow, closer to each,
Belonging to none.
His words kept me close—
Just enough to pull the plug.
His arms around, just long enough,
Before the heat could burn me up.
The moon shining so hard,
Never enough for the storms to hold.
One day, when the Sun was closed—on a vacation of his own—
Held her arms.
Maybe a day when the mighty rests,
For the precious and hidden.
Long walks collide the worlds,
Even for a night where the Sun belongs.
The story was never about love,
Always a mere hope of rove—
A garden of wonders,
Hours before the storm,
The Sun’s home amidst all the thunders.
The story was never about eternity—
Where the oceans are calm,
Silence roars, and the trees dance.
This one was always about hope—
Where chaos is calm.
Even the water is furious,
If not fetched by my almighty as her healing balm.
This story was about a boy and a girl,
A shelter home in the middle of a war.