The Orb of the Moon

Arindam Moulick

From the perennial percussion
Of the gurgling streams
Backing up to the waiting shores
Awakens a transient Oracle
Of bemused lore.
An Oracle resplendent in an attire
As perfect as virtuous jewels sapphire.
The deepest recesses
Of an adoring springtime
Fills up with a brim of gallant hopes,
Dawning in a ceaseless song
Of an unwinding carol
Once lost on a moony day of yore.

Then on a seamless horizon
Rises a burning suspended saffron, the Sun,
To meet its daily humongous thirst
It radiates with its surgical precision
Of humid yet humble blanket of cozy bursts.
But when the daylight lightens
Darkness descends.
And when the darkness lightens
The edges of the clouds are tinged
With a pale pink;
Wearing a saffron attire
The bare colour grows deep
Like an unkempt reddish fire.

Wandering down the streams
Along the shimmering waves,
Over the vast expanse of the silvery-white gown,
Clinging onto the soft beacon of light,
Of visibly torrid tides below,
Twirling, gyrating, dancing, mumbling,
Imitating a child-like rumbling,
Wanting to quiver in utter delight.

Of grinding aches of laughter,
Nodding, swinging, falling, tumbling,
Puzzling the speech of the earthly grumbling,
Unmasking the bittersweet face of the moon;
The orb of the moon
Offers complete resentment and respite
From its limitless blues of tender sighs.
But the dark bland of ground
Beneath the blazing silver
Gathered no immense might.
No visible trace of strength
To rise up to the moonstruck splendour
That is offering all through the night.

By Arindam Moulick

- Written on 31 October 2000

- This poem has also been featured on the EzineArticles.com website. Click here to read the poem: http://ezinearticles.com/?The-Orb-of-the-Moon-and-Two-Other,-Three-Poems&id=9266496