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The Ageless Moon
The moon
Reflected in the cold puddles,
Left by the retreating winter rain,
Seen by Li Bai, centuries before
In the Middle Kingdom,
Or,
Keats, wandering
In the industrialized England,
Searching love and understanding,
A futile quest for a poet,
In every age and nation.
The same moon,
Reminds the lonely traveller,
A salesman going to various towns,
And living alone, in hotel rooms or, upon his return,
In a stuffy shared room, sixth floor, dilapidated building,
In a dark and coughing, crowded Indian metro,
Of an ancestral home that is buried in memories
And very, very far
Away in a small Northern town, amid ruins,
But now---
No longer a home, to a man, searching home
Moon, ageless and same,
Wandering every night,
Distant cities and nations,
Reminds
A young coy Indian bride,
Of her loving parental home,
Where they wait, two people,
The aging mother-father
For an only daughter who cannot
Return so easily to a place,
Where her early youth
Is enshrined in every waiting room.
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