I am puzzled and confused I cannot decide,
She is a creation or herself a creator.
I see a side pose of her lovely face,
One of her eyes in the evening star,
I never saw her beauty from the front,
A hand in my hand and the other on guitar,
She separates her hand and plays a tune,
The crescent then starts her charming dance,
I see this show every month in the nights,
The fourteenth night is the climax of romance,
The nude of the moon through excited eyes,
Enters the hearts and ignites a revolt,
Whatever may be laws, customs and taboos?
The birds in youth carelessly molt,
The bird is confined in a lovely cage,
What’s going out, all that, he departs,
He smiles like flowers and cries like clouds,
Until anticlimax of the moon starts,
And then he sees a moon less night,
In a dark night he can see the front pose,
Deaf and dumb, he can’t describe,
Regretting as to why he poked his nose!