Moon at Half Past Noon

Her hands, small

Like a zoomed out version

Of when I was little

Then, she would raise me

In her palm and laugh in glee

Those tremors kept me warm

Glass in my eye shimmered

With her making faces

In that frozen moment

Eternity I see.


She shrivelled before

She withered away

Her bloated belly,

Not a store of malice

Neither of illness,

Nor fear of the unknown

It was round like a secret

She bore new blessings

A message from the Om

To Anna, to Kanji, to Mami

When they didn’t know

They are the messenger and message

From a mother

Who wished to live more

Clutching life into her fist

Even when she let go

The two tiny blue mittens

That now envelop my old hands

Heave sometimes

At a stranger’s touch

And blossom into smiles

When, I see her everywhere

In every form living, and object