Moon Child Poem by Satish Verma
Moon Child
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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/6/2024 1:11:29 PM # 1.0.0.1119
