When branches try to capture woes for moon
a year unwritten scribbles silver words of moon
It bleeds in melting snow — its sentences
unowned, these silent phases of the moon
Of rhythm independently – the woodwind
sing in syllables as soldiers of the moon.
The conductor waits with cobwebs past
as the curtain falls – interpreting the moon.
He needs to find the tune but not the beat,
as years may waltz, may swirl around the moon.
To find your path, for just a while look back
embrace your past, pursue it with the moon.
Its language is the silver caught in sieves
that’s spilled in waters — don’t unbear our moon.
Tonight it is Open Link Live at dVerse, and Sanaa hosts. I rewrote an old ghazal from a few years. Originally written as a new
years poem, and here is a song from my youth that can go with it,
November 11, 2021