[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

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