by Megha Sood My memories,so scarred and yet sublimeare made of the moonthat white orb of truth,shining mighty high Sitting high in the cleavage of the nightwith a shifty-eyed smilepasses the wisdom from night after nightyour heart, it says,has to go through the phasesto become fullwith joy and grief alike my mottled skinsieved by the milky moonlightimbued with the softness Read More