I’ll swing with the swinging hope,
On the tiny curve,
Of the crescent moon,
Barely existent,
Hugely holding,
Barely growing,
Hugely home,
Befriended by a star or two,
Will fall in the time we rise.
Moons are always full,
We cut them as we want,
To phases,
Because we humans, got phases,
We wait for it’s cycles,
Because we’re dependent on cycles,
Without them we feel incomplete,
As if pain and glory,
Tears and joys,
Guidance and lost,
Loneliness and foundations,
All demand to be repeat,
For us,
Like pumping hearts.
Each one choose a way from there to theirs,
To loose it all, alongside time,
Or to hold it in, fight like lightning men,
In lightening nights,
The only good men,
Not waiting for another phase,
Being the phase,
That is the answer to never circulate,
But be a great beam.
For time make loose of human heart,
And time holds nothing to spare,
We should be better, greater than time, i say,
That is the only way to be a good human,
A good man,
To remember there will be a time,
Even for a cresent moon to come back.
I will be a crescent someday,
Until then I’ll stay silent and full,
I’ll make tea,
And keep two legs,
I’ll stay silent, and full.
zaki monzer 