Poem: You were the Moon.
One morning a beautiful purple flower,
bloomed in the burning desert,
where the scorching sun holds sway.
Baked by the deadly heat,
yet still it blossomed,
held its head high,
and shouted, Bravo!
Burning rays bleached it, yet it never wilted.
Thirst turned its petals yellow; but it kept striving.
The pride of desiccated leaves made the desert furious.
The relentless sun flared at it.
The wind threw fits of temper,
And battered this flower endlessly,
With sandstorm that choked out its air.
It bent for a while,
then raised again.
The furious sun came over its head,
determined to kill it.
A wild and hungry bird,
pecked at the dying petals.
But the flower kept its pride,
The angry sun stained its lips red
yet its feeble, wounded leaves danced on.
Crushed by the humble evening,
the arrogant sun’s last rays died
at the roots of flower.
The arrogant sun sounded like a void,
collapsed lungs, leaving only
the silence of its grimace.
When the cool of twilight came,
to heal the wounds
the flower opened its heart to give fragrance,
to the lifeless desert.
The moon came with its cool light.
Vanity of the Sun took its last breath
in a soft silver sand.
White beams hugged the flower,
it rose again as if it had never suffered.
Desert’s scorching yellow sand,
turned cool when dark shadow
kissed the tips of her toes.
The moon and flower sang a folk song,
that infused the yellow sand,
and lulled the tired caravans.
When the desert slept,
the moonlight in the sky lit up its soul.
to warm a tired heart,
the moon glow bruised the red lips.
The moon and the flower hugged,
shared other one’s kiss and divine secrets.
Nature flourished in that moment.
The silence of the desert spoke,
the language of memory,
of rapturous light and fragrance.
The gentle wind stole the white illuminating dreams,
and went away to touch the hearts of poets.
You were the moon, I the flower.