Numerous stories revolve around the moon.Around the full moon and around the waning beauty.

Poets have put its beauty onto the paper, and so have the bed time stories been filled with its presence.

And the horror ones with the werewolves too.

Today I see the moon. It's merely visible. The merest slice of celestial abundance. And it's no less a beauty this evening too. 

I get engrossed in its beauty. And I want to sing a few lines. I know numerous ones, but I don't remember any today. How odd!

Putting my thoughts aside I just  immerse in its beauty. I look and look and look.

Thud..And I wake up with a jerk. Must have been the cool winter breeze. Or is it the hypnotic effect of the moon?

I gather my thoughts and look at the moon.But I can't see it at all. There aren't any clouds today. Where can the moon go? 

I rub my eyes, trying to open them wide. And still...no luck. When I remember the lines...khoya khoya Chand!