Oh, the longing.
To be somewhere, where you are not already.
To be someone, who you always wanted to be.
The diya wanting to be the moon and shine everywhere.
The moon wanting to be the diya to be closer to its admirer.
The admirer lying on her terrace, looking at the moon, admiring its magnificent beauty, soaking in the elixir. In some cultures it's meditation, to look at the moon. The admirer got all her meditation fix by looking at the moon. Whenever she looked at the moon, a wave of calmness enveloped her in its warm embrace. It didn't matter anymore where she was. All that mattered was the moon and her. And yes she talked to the moon (a bit cliched) and the moon talked back to her too. And they longed to be together. Someday when the admirer might touch the sky or when the moon comes to earth and sits with her.
The sun had heard so many times about the moon. How she absorbs light from him to shine in the night. He heard it but never witnessed it for himself. The moon saw him shine all the time. He seemed warm but untouchable, close enough for her to absorb his light but far enough for him to see her. Oh, the longing, that they have to meet each other someday. The sun wanting to meet the moon, the moon wanting the sun to notice her once. One day the sun shone low thinking he might catch a glimpse of this much talked about moon. He had heard so much about her, in poems, prose, and stories and couldn't wait to see her. Alas for 'twas a moonless night. And the longing remained...
The moonflower bloomed...in all its glory. The Gardener propagated it carefully. Doing everything as required. It wasn't a typical atmosphere for the plant, but it happened with the gardener's intention and determination. The moonflower waited and waited...and waited but the gardener didn't return. Oh, the beauty was wasted. The gardener came back but the season was over. And the moonflower did not bloom again for long. And the longing...the longing was just the same...
