Bright Beams of the Night by Avantika Singhal

On the night
when the pale
Moon with its
roundness appeared
outside my window,
I regarded it carefully.
Like it was a leech
feeding on my thoughts.
The knife that I had used
to scratch, the wood glinted
like sunshine and
reminded me of the red blunders I
had produced on myself. It was a sickly sight,
I admit. In comparison to
the Moon’s beauty, my
arm looked as if a bouncy
child had taken his red crayon
and run it in straight lines
across my ocean veins.
The Moon saved me that night.
Its beauty did not make me
envious, it splashed lots of
sunbeams on my tear streaked face in
that starry night. I survived.



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