How often do we find ourselves shrouded? How often do we feel like a corpse, waiting for the afterlife?
The moon reflected on my windowpane today. I looked up at it. It wasn’t perfect. It was reducing in form, waiting for complete disappearance. I felt, how lucky it must be to hide away in the whole space, away from the scrutiny of eyes of beasts. However, today it got some chances prior to new moon. Dark, wavy clouds passed over it and it playfully covered itself up. I noticed a tiny twinkling star beside it. It was its sole companion in the cloudy night. The clouds appeared as spirits, waving their hands over and over again, snatching away the star with them. The moon, too, seemed like it was rescuing its companion. It constantly fought back and forth and finally, both were together again! Sparkling, shining, twinkling and hiding!
Did the moon feel death it shroud? Did it long for an afterlife, fought for it and then came back again? Or was it the star rescued by the moon? Do the cloudy spirits covers up our thoughts, and we fight back every time, coming back on track? Or we experience an afterlife of thoughts?