The Lunar Monarch
As the midnight deepens, the lunar monarch presides cheerily in the heaven, attired in stately ceremonial raiment, consisting of starfire and planetary glisters.
The animals are awake to their priestly custodian, reigning on high in perfect magnanimity, and so overbrimming with love that the ghosts of the forest run away in fear. The elephants go pacing through the shallows in a glut of lunar attention, showering themselves in slow moving cheer, enraptured by the bliss of water, and bold in their mutual affection.
The tiger moves languidly in the shadows, purring in satisfaction and fierce wisdom, entirely given to fond feelings as the effulgent disc above sends gratuitous mirth. The water rats too are awake, slinking and scurrying in relaxed abandon as the sounds of the night echo through the valley.
Along the shore, the wavelets speak sibilant hymns and praises and doxologies, naming the fulgent moon as their patriarch and master. The ineffable love between water and moon shimmers into life as the evidence of harmony and sensual ardour.
The forest stands in congregational witness, with the breezes diving down from above and along the waterway, down the rocky shore line in alacrity, like sprites of faery origin. This is a holy communion and the residents of the jungle go energised, standing in confidence and gusto before the lunar monarch, pompously inaugurated in astral light.
The teak and banyan tree speak to each other in ageless fraternity, as the cascading vines spill in freefall, like unkempt braids of hair, as snakes of the orient glide undetected through the dense foliage. All creation is conjoined in reverential awareness and nocturnal zest, peeking out of the overgrowth in curiosity and vivacity.
The stars have a devoted audience and find cammeraderie in the creatures that walk the infinite night and look up in ever expanding reverence and admiration, seeking the matchless pleasure that may be gleaned in the adoring gaze of the lunar monarch. Could there be a finer or more eloquently crafted visage?
The dragonflies even sit in speechless poise, miniscule in stature, but apt to yield a besottedness and cheer equal to the giants…
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