By: Athena Mondal

Image of a half-eaten moon, slowly savoured
The downward strokes of an acoustic guitar,
In wafts the smell of precious memories,
Some from the well-guarded past,
Some in the mind yet to be made,
For only in darkness can shine a star.

A little breeze whispered words of love,
Bringing just traces of a faint smile,
It kissed leaving a silver mark.
For the chosen one,
Nostalgia can happily cripple
Even if only for a while.

Measure not the four-course meal,
Measure the first bite,
Measure not the hours spent together,
Measure that one sight.
Measure not phases and time,
Measure the little moments,
Measure the words and rhyme,
Measure not the book…