Indifferent

From the Soul to the nib of the Pen

Enamored by its bewitching sight
and a pinch of his own melancholy,
the poet weights off every night
to veil himself with another poem
howling between the spaces,
But the moon never apologies
for all the nights it goes missing;
the moon never appreciates
his presence on all the nights.

– Kritika Vashist

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