There was a place, that I used to see, In my dreams, every night, I did see, A land that had, always, Joy in all walkways. A land that had in plenty, Happiness in bounty. A land that had lives making merry, With their kith and kin, never worrying.
A land that had brotherhood, Across every neighbourhood. A land, that was synonymous to nature, With harmony amongst every creature. A land, that sadly seems To be just in my dreams.
Kirti, an IT professional turned teacher, took into poetry writing during the lockdown in COVID year. Apart from being a voracious reader, she enjoys music, sports, and drawing. She loves reading and writing in many Indian languages. She is a good orator and loves to recite poems.
I was staring at my books listlessly in the noon, as I thought of a story about a girl and the moon.
Once upon a time, there lived a young, enthusiastic girl, who had charming eyes and lovely brown curls. She was fond of the shape shifting celstial body and would sing lullabies about its beauty daily. At nights, she would wait near the wooden door, hoping that one night it will land on the porch. She imagined riding it to the chilly North Pole, thinking about it somehow calmed her soul. She would often address it as “My Dear Moon” and for the humanity, she considered it to be a boon. “Come down to the earth, come play with me, come pay me a visit, come down to me”. She watched it change its shape every night and everytime she would be pleased with its sight.
A few years passed and the girl grew older Her hopes for the Moon’s visit became fainter. One night, when she wasn’t waiting anymore She heard a soft knock on the wooden door. The beloved Moon had come down to the earth, to visit the girl who appreciated the reflector’s worth. “Dear Moon?”, whispered the admirer doubtfully as the beloved Moon stood on the porch silently.
As I watched the girl walk towards the door Something started pulling me down on the floor, As I fell towards the floor and kept falling continuously I heard some footsteps and then a door creaked slowly I continued falling down when someone shook my shoulder “Oh dear! You’re sleeping again”, said my mother “Dreaming and exploring, Mother”, I said to her, as I thought about the fate of the Moon and its admirer.
Sheebah is a student of class XI whose hobby is to write poetry.