Moon Death

When the pouring ceases
The sky will clear
And I promise myself: the moon will be there

This time of the year
Monsoon clouds eclipse the rotund shape
So just a sliver, a waning silver-ness, maybe
Am I asking for too much?

A bitter night in a Ratnapura rest house
The sound of crickets over the ridge
Ebbing reminiscence
To colour the moon a wounded red
The journey ends tomorrow
I have no clue who I will meet

Or want to meet

Though in Ratnapura the roads have not changed
And the people look the same

Fear (or is it shame?)
Of memory, long unrecalled
By-lanes and signposts I forget
Without a map and a familiar moon
To guide me through a mnemonic maze:
The residues of the loon dialogue with myself

I need a bit of light
To seek