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There are whirlwinds all around me.
In the subdued whispers of passed on folklore, in the legends of jinns and ghosts, in the euphoria of love, in the nostalgia of a past life, in the wonders of a world which...
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he's a moonchild, waiting for something to pass his window on a late school night, gazing with gray curious eyes, singing a song his parents would never like, he's a moonchild, wondering what life would be like a thousand years from now, would the stars be screaming down at us, as if they were a broken heart away from astronomical love?
he's the best 'once upon a time' story that will ever be written; a wildflower under trampled sunlight with a heart ever-beating, he dreams of space-dust and a light littered life, he's a moonchild, patiently searching for stars on a clear night, sitting up all day drawing constellations with his fingertips, he's a moonchild, a smile softly reaching for his lips.
with all the empyrean lies he has told himself, a piece of him knows this very well : he's a moonchild, seeing the world for everything it isn't— ethereal, divine and unfailingly pleasant;
seeing sea waves on a tragic dry land, a glimpse of space in the palm of your hand; he's a moonchild, patiently waiting for something to pass his window on a late school night.
—
a/n : I was on a drive yesterday till midnight and the moon was shining at its brightest, one of the most pleasant moments of my life and that's what inspired this poem. (and my absolutely obsession for the moon).
This is the last poetry in 'whirlwinds' and I just want to thank you for reading this book, for the votes and the comments. Hoping you enjoyed my first poetry collection based on fantasy and reality storytales. I can't express my gratitude enough, and until next time :).
