To The Moon

Collected, this land
Of uncommon whims
We fought, we rot
Stairs we climbed
—and then we didn’t
Like an ant hill made
Like a line we walked
Red ants—industrial still
Not red though
We saw, we dreamt
Out into heavens
We built—oh we built
Rust removed from life
And machines alike
We tried and we failed
But tonight while I look
At the sky—it is my sky
For you look back on me
A part of my soil
Largeness of my soul
From the Moon afar
Lasso of our science
Brought this satellite
Near—oh so near
An imprint on South
Four lions—Ashoka
Stamp of glory.
Written by Bricoleur
Author's Note
In honor of Chandrayaan III
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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