Every once in a moonlit midnight

I look up at the sky

And wonder if the moon eyes me back.

Not the type that flatters little girls-

The type that has them run around the railings

And scream, "O ma! What a beautiful moon it is!"

Not the type for a honeymoon either

Where the husband draws in a warm breath-

To his wife says,

"Pretty, but not as much as you!"

Neither the one of Kajla Didi,

Starry-eyed as it is,

For all it does is spill out memories old and heart-worn;

Nor even one of a moonstruck poet

That makes him whisper, "Oh the strange saucer of silver, it bends!"

The night I am waiting for has the Moon

That many other moons ago

Seized the eyes of Siddharth,

The type that happens and

Leaves all the house doors open and wide

While an entire meadow

Inside itself invites.

And I, determined to walk that mile

Walk, walk and keep walking.

That one full moon … slowly hangs about the mid sky

And I hear the many voices

Calling on my name- "Closer, closer, closer!"

The translator is a lecturer of English at ULAB. She is also a sub-editor of The Daily Star.