The moon smiles down at us,
A soft gleam on her bleached brow.
Together we bask under
Her tender luminescence but
What happens on the dark side of the moon?

Olive skin between her
Beady almond eyes,
Creased in concentration as 
A pair of harsh, stubborn hands 
Hold, spin, twist and wind.
Hold, spin, twist and wind.
Perspiration coats her  fissured skin and 
Droplets – diamonds woven into 
Luminous locks of hair that sprout
From the brittle woman's rickety wheel.

These silky locks cascade down 
The white moon's squared shoulders.
No ink nor colour can 
Emulate her porcelain features.
Red lips, supple cheeks,
Slender limbs held gracefully.
Her regal poise, mocking gaze,
The chhaan chhaan chhaan of anklets
Lacing her feet
While the old woman's, working pedals
Lie in iron chains rusted, eternally.

Nothing can behold the moon's brilliance but
The eyes of a gasping admirer.
They – awestruck, lie witness to her majesty
Their arms spread wide, yawp
"The vitreous pour of the full moon
 Just tinged with blue!"
The white moon sighs, satisfied.
And the old woman smiles, wanly.

The writer is an SSC Candidate for 2021, and is now undergoing the process of college admissions