Under Kartik’s Moonlight
At last, I arrived—
in the land of the moon, upon the empty field,
in the northern wind, under Kartik’s moonlight,
by the edge of the Ichamati’s waters.
Golden ripples shimmer,
silver reflections gleam.
That place—
where the moon once painted the sky—
whose reflection drifts there now,
floating in blue?
And yet,
the moon must still be seen in the sky.
