Author: Harpreet Chhachhia

The Sun melts in the Ocean blue
And sparks fly in the Sky,
To make it a red-purple hue,
That turns dark by and by.

The last orange dips in the water,
Which is aflame with red,
And it brings the Day to its slaughter,
As it takes Night to bed.

The Moon rises to rape the Star,
Which has wishes to give;
Dark, purple clouds smog up to mar
The Moon. They seem to drive

The Star out of harm’s reach, but, then,
As Night begins to play,
The Star within the Moon’s lighted den,
Cannot, blissfully, stay.

A dog begins to howl and bark;
Crickets cry and bats fly,
Around and around in the dark;
They know—something must die.

The clouds cover the Moon with fog
And the Star shines alone;
The Wind drowns the howling dog
With its deep baritone.

The Moon appears again to shine;
The Star trembles in fright;
The Moon seems to cry: mine, mine, mine!
And all’s quiet in the Night.

Then, suddenly, the Moon turns dark:
A red, maroon, then – black!
The Earth’s grim shadow puts its mark,
And gives the Moon its back.

Lost in power the Moon lies cold.
The Star lives on – to light
The Earth with a glory untold
And defeats the Moon’s night.