Falling For Lune

By Surabhi Kaushik

If the Moon were tonight to appear amongst men,

He would be a French poet on the banks of the Seine.

Leaning flirtily on the rails with a guitar and a berét,

Sharp eyes and silver tongue sipping Chardonnay. 

Dearest Lune,

When you walk does the air shimmer?

When you chuckle, my eyes glimmer.

Are the veins on your hand laced in gold?

You are incandescent, so I've been told. 

'Selene' is Greek

I picture her dancing by a creek

Pearly white robes billowing around

And the moonlight bathing her crown. 

She's the goddess of the moon but hunts at night,

The craters on the moon are her arrows' spite. 

Her chariot is destined to pull him along

But he disappears come dawn. 

Dearest Lune,

What colour are your eyes?

I will meet you on the Bridge of Sighs.

Each time you wax, must you wane?

Perhaps poets praise the moon in vain.

I have loved you like you would fall for a letter's font,

Like you would fall for a voice behind you at a restaurant.

Try as I might, I can't reach you from afar,

And if captured in paint or film, it wouldn't be at par.

Dearest Lune,

Must you glow and tease me so?

We can't end the clandestine show,

Because if they could take you away, wouldn't everyone?

So I'll settle for writing about you until I see the sun. 

By Surabhi Kaushik