Packed bags, in an empty room,
but for a bed,
and a peeking moon;

Keys playing, by the door in a bowl,
waiting to be lifted,
and taken for a stroll;

Specks of dust, dancing in the light,
of a moon that creeps,
through the window tonight;

Excited and euphoric, they dance in a rave,
for soon they shall dwell,
alone in this cave;

I’m leaving now with my bags and my keys,
so I can hitch a ride on this air-bus breeze.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar