One day i felt as if sun was telling me something,
When i was gazing at the sky, that early morning,
He said-" To whom should i say my complaint?
No one adores me, neither a poet nor a saint.
Every poet and writer praises
Only that moon, in their phrases
They sing in praise of the moon and his moonlight,
And compare their beloved face with the moon bright.
That moon whose size is never constant,
Who is either full or in cresent,
Never visible on a new moon night
But still he is admirable in everybody sight!
Though his golden body is black stained,
And his shape is never sustained,
Though his arrival in sky is always late
He is welcomed heartily by people, Oh! what a fate!
Look at me, i am so regular in rising,
Do not delay even for a second in setting,
I will never ever change my strategy
And i'm the ultimate source of energy
What about that moon who is a borrower of my light,
He is dull while i'm bright,
The world admires him and forgets my virtues,
But i'll wait for the day when they'll change their views."
