Even the sun at times wishes that he were the moon
At least two lovers at night would look at him and sigh and swoon.
Paeans to its beauty someone would sing
Wispy clouds like a warm blanket cling
to its surface, foamy and white
that beautiful blob of silver in the night
Why does the sun have to burn so?
Seething, Jealous, Orange and Yellow?
Why do people turn away at sight?
Curse, Close, Cover the blinding light.
While the moon sits as the crown prince
Cradled by the night, lullabied by the mother who sings
O how the sun longs to be owned for its sins
For its heart where Icarus burnt its wings
How does it tell those that bow to His majesty
that it longs to be loved, not revered…
To be looked at, acknowledged and stared
To be a commoner and not a king, is it such a travesty?
How difficult it is to be real and not the reflection
To wait every dusk for the point of hurt
when the bridal moon lights up the night…
That unbearable point of inflection.
Who would think even the sun at times wishes to be warm
Just for once step away from the norm.
P.S It’s sometimes the strongest people around us who are the most vulnerable. And that vulnerability is the source of their strength.