The overhead wires

stitch-up blue miles,

helpless distances are embroidered nice

in fond stitches of freedom.

Happiness, - a kite

detached from flight

drops levitating

through luxurious emptiness.

The criss-cross wires

cut the moon

into jigsaw pieces of puzzle

treasuring solitude.

The truest lie, immortal,

charms the fabulous void.

The captive,

held in lifelong imprisonment,

had a nickname once.

Now he is forbidden

to look at the sky, -

a perpetual agony

cries without a cry.

Decades back

he had impregnated the moon.

Now the precious nothingness

surrounds him like a boon.

He wonders if the moon

had delivered another moon,

during that pink monsoon.

By Kakoli Ghosh

From: India

Instagram: MOONDROPS_2020