Ev’ry two Fortnight
It has become our customary rite,
To sit together, gazing at the full moon’s light,
Every two fortnights, side by side,
Under the moon’s glow, our souls collide.
On this faithful night, she inquired
In her soft, alluring voice, she embraced,
“If the moon appears so pretty, I do declare,
Why does your gaze not reflect the same affair?”
In a hushed tone, I mumbled my reply,
“I find not the moon pretty, as you imply,”
As my words reached her ears, with surprise,
Her bewildered soul sighed, her wonder arise.
“Then why? Why do you gaze with might,
At the moon above, in the stillness of night?”
Under that full moon’s radiant gleam,
I whispered the truth that I held deep within.
I questioned if the moon, though close at hand,
With its scars and flaws, would still command,
The same beauty when it’s distant and far,
Its flaws shining bright, like a guiding star.
Continuing softly, I shared my insight,
“It’s not the moon’s beauty that ignites, But its resilience to shine through its flaws,
A lesson I’ve learned from life’s demanding applause.”
For I, too, know the struggle to grow and shine,
With imperfections and flaws that intertwine,
Yet, like the moon, I strive to radiate,
Embracing my scars, I no longer hesitate.
