By: Rachel Ann B. Pedroso
The moon was a lucent orb
when you peeked through the cloudless Arab night.
Gloriously singular, undisturbed,
a guardian for her with a lonely plight.
The breeze was quizzically sultry
Moving with certainty against the skin
It felt like a winter’s irony
Untamed, unquiet, restless in sin.
The silence was deafening
with the faintest whisper as a passerby
They who can hear her labored breathing
Kneeled in prayer and mourning lullaby
She knew what is coming.
And now, what interest her is only the past
She has lived fully and has nothing to lose
With chest rising, she breathed her last.