[Allahummabārik. May Allah bless my writing endeavours, as well as you, the reader. Ameen]
Three poets huddle beneath orange-tinged moonlight
Whilst moon, in his last quarter, promises an ending
Followed, of course, by nature of Moon’s cyclical wit,
A beginning. We know not what this beginning might entail
But the three poets know, by now, not to make poetry of such a thing.
Moon is radiant and reflective; his handsomeness is attractive
To swathes of water that yearn to bathe in his light; in his reflected beauty.
Moonlight kills day; forces poets to gaze upon him and ponder upon things
That poets have no real business pondering upon. Their art concerns words:
This, surely, is far too beautiful for them.
Sadia Ahmed, 2020