The air dipped a brush into the dark blue lake
And began painting the sky
Beginning in the east
Strokes going westward
When accidentally
It touched the sinking sun
And spilled a little of its tangerine
Into the thinning inkiness of the west
From the pewter of yesterday’s moon
It cast on the canvas a miniscule silver drop
That winked growing stronger each minute
Then came another
And another
‘nother
A growing population
Now I wait
For a silver sickle
Grown since yesterday
For I know
The air is only pretending to paint
'Coz I play along
This charade goes on
Irrespective of me or you
Or what we believe or choose to disbelieve
~ Sonali
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