NATURE Poem: Night, by Thamasha Ukwatta

The essence from the depths of moonlight
cascades upon my lithe figure that was once daring and proud.
This heart of mine cannot reawaken, even under the calls
of the bashful, hypnotizing nightingale
perched upon a branch of oak.

The moon above, mighty and gleaming,
snickers at my stance and cackles under her breath.
This vast field of dandelions rushes past my ankles,
itching my bare feet and limbs.
Oh, they stare, they look, and they glare.

I must’ve been a great show to overcome
the loneliness of existing in this reality—
something I cannot relate to, but something that I wish to.
The moon listens as the stars blink.
They begin to illuminate more and more, as my wishes
dissemble deeper and deeper.

The gust of wind says hello, passing by and tickling my shadow.
A smile stretches on my face, and I gaze at the dandelions withering away,
dispersing their utterly delightful bodies
into a swarm of feathers and pale dust. Some hit my face,
some dance on my grave—a goodbye to another ending once more.

The moon has lost her audience, the only remaining, my pitiful soul.
The stars hide and dim. The moon, lustrous and smirking.
I listen to the howls of the forest wolves echo, and the flapping wings
of the nightingale that flutters away,
to a destination unknown.

My mind collapses as the silver of the moon drizzles down my spine,
into a puddle that reflects my stance—
a mirror of nothingness, not even a speck of silver.
They all continue to dazzle and put on a show.
I wilt and perish to the void, nothing more.