The Longing

Longing bellows past the hours of the night,

As the moon longs to touch its beams shining bright.

The moors play hide and seek with the foliage,

As if to unravel the concealed moulage,

The crevasses unfold the lurking night-crawler,

Trying to hide its game from the scrawler,

The trees stretch their arms to hold their shadows tight,

The sonata of crickets beckoning with all their might,

A restless eye on the moonlit vale,

Yearning to fulfill this abeyant tale,

But longing dribbles tears and fills a lake,

There's no silver lining, only a mourners wake,

My mouth didn't utter, nor my tongue spake,

The night crawled by as I lay awake,

To hold and embrace, to own and to brace,

All I long is to envisage your face,

The trees found light, the moors found the sun,

The moon gained respite, but I have none,

The crickets got their mates and crevasses their calm,

But my heart still longs for a voice calling-Mom!