The moon too is older
rounder, with wrinkles that mature,
mountains that so heavy with tales and odes of wonder,
pickled together,
all in one fine shape.
As much as the goddess that
stays there from a long time ago,
from that once upon a time to a day,
it’s been a while, so long years,
and knows every little detail that we keep forgetting.
No one can lie to her so long memory.
The beams that falls and showers with memories,
Though sometimes a full,
and sometimes a half,
and sometimes an arch,
and sometimes black and none at all.
Where old tales repeated, and that in silence.
Yes, the moon too is old,
still, it appears the prettiest of all.
✍️Rwrites