A Resolute Stand
Who can control tides when moon’s near?
They keep heaving under that maiden’s gaze,
By scattering sunsets and breaking shores
They promise longer nights in many ways.
At such nights, the wind’s an adopted child,
No more homesick like the darkness,
Rather thoughtless like the intruder,
Or vagabond like the knight at chess
These fateful nights do not make promise
Of a golden dawn or a warm caressing rest,
And ‘cause they head straight from the moon,
You can’t shield yourself even at jest.
A lonely leaf began to flow in these winds,
But like curtains usually do, it kept revisiting.
Briefly to know what loss it’d incurred
Each time to the moon with it’s passing.