The other night I looked out of my window and was fortunate enough to see a beautiful
sight. A full, round moon. In that moment I suddenly realised why poets are so
drawn to describing the moon. There is something about it which moves a person.
This
could have something to do with the fact that I am such a romantically inclined
person. It reminds us that we are small in comparison to the universe and that
we are lucky enough to witness such beauty.
I
know it’s a clique, but it’s amazing to think that the moon I am looking up to
is the same moon that someone across the country is looking up at too. It creates a
strange link between us all.
But
the brilliant London-based Somali poet, Warsan Shire describes it better than I can:
We blame you for floods
for the flush of blood
for men who are also wolves
and even though you could pull
the tide in by its hair
we tell people that we walked all
over you
we blame you for the night
for the dark
for the ghosts
you cold unimaginable thing
following us home,
we use you
to see each others frail
naked bodies beneath your blue light,
we let you watch; you
swollen against the glass
breath a halo of steam
as we move against one another
wet and desperate
like fish under
a waterlogged sky
