Farkhanda

​Night dies.

I wish to write something for this beautiful night
Scary and serene…
Night… Wrapping the untold stories of people,
while dying inside for the warmth of sunshine…
How ironic!
Never can anyone ever wish for their own death, but night dies when the sun rises.
From this high place, world looks small, yet such a pretty view.
Pretty because of stars above and shiny light below.
How come a writer forgets to write but never to admire.
My hands might stop writing but not my eyes…
Living to witness this ever lasting beauty.
Sky looks sad… Because it’s night, no sight of moon, that’s why it’s dead.
Silence is casing… no sun can provide this peace ever.
But night dies when the sun rises.

Farkhanda is a poet based in Kashmir