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An empty room with a lonely soul
sitting beside the window,
with a clear view of the moon.
A soft hindi retro playlist in a loop,
eyes half-closed with lips murmuring with the tune.

Eyes have a language of their own-
a lot to say, a lot they know.
Somewhere in the middle of thoughts,
eyes full of hopes and prayers,
want to be one among the rares.

A white frosty line- the moonbeam they say,
embracing the pale round face,
exciting the eyes to gaze the phase,
with a look constant at the moon,
without a blink any soon.

Ahh! The cool breeze,
drives my skin crazy,
those crisp occasionals,
blow my hair tangles,
framing a mood of romanticism over realism.

Stars and clouds,
seemingly engrossed in the charming looks of the moon.
My long late moonlit nights,
days after days,
giving me reasons to stay awake in every way.

GREG RAKOZY EGOR KAMELEV
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