(Written at age 12-13.)
I was sitting in my car,
My father was driving back from the market,
When I glanced outside the window,
And my preoccupied mind found time to muse on an object in the sky,
It seemed as if it was suspended limply from some invisible thread,
Like a spider hanging from its web.
Only, unlike the spider it was not wary of the movements around it.
It hung motionless,
As still as Death.
It hung quiet,
As silent as Death.
I realized it seemed oblivious
Of the evil in the world over which it hung.
It was unaware
Of the perpetual unrest in the world it looked upon.
So calm, so serene.
I wish I could,
For one exquisite moment,
Feel like the moon...