The Buck Stops Here

Shahnaz Islam
The moon is fucked up too.
Because she could not shimmer more.
But only reflected a glimmer of
The burning essence of the Sun.
She can only choose to glare
A figment of his incandescent flare.
Now the day glooms
And the light grows dim
She bares her nakedness
And the darkness within.
The sun in its infinite dance
With 8 lovers
His fervid nonchalance.
A flicker bursting to flames
An end to morbid games
(a form she would never appreciate but fall for his grace and shall be.)