Love and Moon.

Love.

Love is the entity we desire,

And we burn like fire,

And set ourselves ablaze,

For its chase,

To fill us with warmth,

Which it offers as its garment.

We are the fabric through which it breathes,

With our help, tremendous colors it weaves,

To give us a texture so rare,

With it no on else can compare.

The moment it's tattered,

Consequences arise,

And then comes the struggle,

To be honorable and wise,

And handle the threads carefully,

To keep the fabric intact,

With all the beauty and tact.

Moon.

To the Moon I ask,

How do you find our tasks?

Petty and small?

Relevant at all?

I find it smiling down on us,

Sometimes even with a smirk,

Maybe wondering why can't we see,

All the beauty in our own world.

How would it feel to be seen through its eyes,

To be naturally and justly analysed,

And then being given a grade,

Depending on our trade,

Obviously not what we do for a living,

But how we value those who are living?

I have these questions on my mind,

Obviously, they can't be clearly defined,

And irrespective of how much I refined,

Still, the Moon will just look down and smile.