Phases of you

It’s a story of a month-long bridal,

Seated comfortably in the clouds cradle

But sometimes peep outside your window

In cloudless full

And in no time white and mystic turns

Into infinite gloom

Slowly it creeps in stealing the show

With its perfectly crescent bow

After lingering there for a while

It grew into a half-eaten pie

Even since mankind happened it depicts the same story

Yet it never complained of its monotony.

These are the phases of the moon

Or I say the phases of you.

Sometimes blooming

And somedays are gloomy

Sometimes with a perfect crescent smile.

And sometimes half-heartedly handling the other half of the broken pile.

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