Saturday, July 30, 2011


Even when the last friend
Hangs up on you
The moon, though it be broken
Full or hidden,
Looks out for you
As if it still remembers
The tender hand
That fed you both,
The neem stands sentinel
At the window
Listening to the words
You whisper to it
When no one is around,
The night never deserts you
Hiding and healing as it has always done
Till you are ready for the sun.

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