Night after nights will finally arrive alone. I shall go out to meet it half way down the lane With its other friend, the moon.

We will sit and talk all night, the three of us, Me, the moon, and the night, I think mostly, About her, the girl with the abacus in her heart.

The night will say, “Do you remember her blood Stirred with sadness?”, and the moon will respond, “No I don’t, I was too busy laughing till I hurt

At her jokes”. And I will think of her gliding in That zone between moonlight and nightsound, Where I counted the welts on her wrists with all The concentration (and little love), I could muster.

shashi, keep writing..... i am truly lost for words. ur collection of poems will be an anthology , i will certainly treasure. n