Royina, I’ve heard the moon can still be seen,
From a corner of your terrace
In the oldest colony of the city.
The full moon.
The blood moon.
Shines, like a nightmare
And its cold light washes the tip of the mosque,
Beside my house.
Royina, there is a song my grandma used to sing,
When I was just a kid.
It said the moon is a land of miracles
And an old lady sits in
One of the craters
Waving her wand.
Royina, tonight is not the night of the sane.
Full moons have never been the muses of poets.
They are darlings of the wretched.
They are the lovers, of wolves and the insane
Who have learnt to live with cold moonlight, in their veins
All these years.
Born in 1993, Nilesh Mondal has lived most of his life in the small town of Asansol. An undergraduate in engineering by choice, he stumbled onto poetry by chance. His works have been published in various magazines and e-journals like The Bombay Review, Café Dissensus, Muse India, Inklette, Kitaab, Coldnoon Travel Poetics, etc.
He currently works as a writer for Terribly Tiny Tales and Thought Catalog, as prose editor for Moledro Magazine, and as an intern at Inklette. His first book of poetry, Degrees of Separation (Writers Workshop), is scheduled for release in 2017.