That day, the tsot-like moon ascended
behind the hills looking
wane and worn like a gown of Pampur
tweed
with a tattered collar and loose collar-
bands,
revealing sad scars over her silvery
skin,
She was weary and tired and
lusterless
as a counterfeit pallid
rupee-coin
deceittully given to an
unsuspecting woman labourer
by a wily master.
The tsot-like moon ascended and the
hills grew hungry.
The clouds were slowly putting out
their cooking tires.
But the forest nymphs began to kindle
their oven tires.
And steaming rice seemed to shoot up
Over the hill tops.
And, murmuring hope to my
starving belly.
I gazed and gazed at the promising
sky.