Moon Child

Satish Verma

Blessed dying 
like a fading moon― 
with no watermark. 

A candle's flame 
makes a hole in your shaking hand. 

Skids off― on the 
unpaved dirt road, a sleep catcher. 

Climbing on moon shaped 
rocks for the final jump. 

Comes like a throwback 
dialogue, what you did not say. 

I will go in the wings now. 
It is your turn to come 
on the stage. 

A nameless baby was born 
on paper. It has 
become an epic.