I buried my heart on the marble floor of the moon.
The blood kept seeping out from the grave,
staining the moon’s white floor.

Heartless, I stand every night, staring above,
out in the open meadows of green,
mourning the heart that keeps bleeding still,
birthing a giant stain of faded red, even after three years.

What have I done? A celestial crime.
The glowing white moon will one day turn pink,
and every soul in the universe will curse my name.

Because the heart still keeps bleeding from its broken veins,
and for eternity, it will.
It bleeds, and lets me know:
to me, it doesn’t belong.

– Syeda Mansur

Author’s Note: “The Bleeding Moon” emerged from a moment of sudden darkness during a power outage at midnight, while I was painting beside my open window. As the darkness filled the room, the full moon on the midnight blue sky appeared brighter than ever, and at that moment, the image of burying a heart on the moon came to my mind. The poem reflects on the persistence of emotions, no matter how deeply we try to bury them or run from them, they always resurface, refusing erasure.