A poem from my journal:

I look down to see
The tallest moon
Like a pillar of light
Stretching to touch my feet

It glimmers, it gleams
And twinkles laughingly
At its reflection high above
In the navy sky.

Verse from the past

Rummaging through an old purse, I came across a forgotten piece of paper with a poem I had written two years back in a languid mood.

After-bath

Aroma,
Heady,
Sweet smell of lemon grass;

Fresh,
Fragrant,
Water dripping off my hair;

Mild,
Cottony,
dusky light filters through lace;

Gentle,
Small,
Anklets chime as I tap my feet;

Rhythmic,
Indigo,
I stretch over printed sheets;

I breathe the moment of stillness,
My senses savor faraway whispers,
I sleep.