Sublime

Even now, when darkness had been banished from most parts of the world, there remained a sense of human gratitude toward the moon and its unconditional compassion. It was imprinted upon human genes like a warm collective memory.

At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine.

Streaming in through the window, the moonlight cast long shadows and splashed the walls with a touch of diluted Indian ink.

The moon had been observing the earth close-up longer than anyone. It must have witnessed all of the phenomena occurring – and all of the acts carried out – on this earth. But the moon remained silent; it told no stories.