I hate to see the moon

Sitting silently on an armchair in a dimly lit cold room, a novel lying on the armrest, a cigarette burning in my left hand… I open my eyes to see a full moon outside the window. A bright soothing moon with some dark spots, they say the spots are a part of its beauty. Claiming the dark blue sky, hiding behind the clouds and sometimes emerging from it as if slowly my beloved removed her veil; it slowly mesmerized me into a world of serenity.

Few stars shining so distantly, some flickering just enough and so mildly not to distract all the attention but to elude the persona of the moon. A tree with branches hanging just outside the window, some very thin and fragile, pointing towards the moon as if calling it to be closer and more closer, getting seduced, charmed  by its presence.

Yes, I felt it that way. The moon was the epicenter where all the artistry of the creator and my intent was directed to. The whole ambiance became so exuberant and exhilarating that I immediately stood up, rushed towards the window and closed the curtains.

I don’t want the moon in my life. I can’t remember the last time I looked outside the window at night. My eyes have stopped searching for the absolute beauty; but I don’t know why the image was still lingering in my mind. To my dismay I couldn’t take my mind off. I think the moon too wants its beauty to be seen, admired; it wants poems written on it; smiles back when someone looks with love towards it. So much love, affection, admiration to one beauty which doesn’t even have light of its own. The glow which it emanates, belongs to someone else; someone who burns every day.

Feeling helpless, I took a deep breath and brought my left hand closer to my mouth. Not realizing that the cigarette has already fallen from my hand and the novel slipped from the armrest. My eyes started searching for the burning cigarette. As soon as my eyes laid its sight on it, I walked quickly with staggering steps, picked it up, took a deep satisfying drag and again sat on the armchair. I picked the novel back onto my lap and started looking for the page where I left.

Here it is! My eyes exclaimed. I again engulfed my thoughts into the book; started reading, contemplating, just to take my thoughts away. But I couldn’t stop those moments of the time I spent admiring the moon to creep into my mind. When I used to write poems on it, love it, embrace it in the depth of my eyes. Time has changed so much, what happened? I asked apprehensively. When I reached the second paragraph, suddenly a flash of light passed through my eyes. It said “I don’t want to be the moon; I want to be its meaning.”

Unaware; suddenly the curtains flew away. The moon was staring at me with its entire glow through the window. I could see nothing else, no stars, no sky, no clouds and no branches that were before calling the moon so desirably. The epitome of beauty was now hurting my eyes.

I realized the importance of the moon was not of its alone; sky, stars, trees, clouds, everything together gave the moon its beauty… its grace. The elegance does not belong to the moon alone. All play there part in the creation of the perfect masterpiece. I played my part in bringing out the essence... feeling it, praising it, celebrating it. But the moon didn’t realize…

One becomes a moon but never immerses in its meaning. Now I realized why I hate to see the moon.

For my older posts, check archive.