I saw another moon she says.
I consider correcting her, telling her that this was the same moon we saw before the bike turned left and headed out of the layout into the clearing.
But then is there really only one moon? The same moon chasing the same sun in her sable chariot night after night in an endless hunt?
Is there not a moon that appears as a dosai and is eaten away really slowly by a distracted god kid?
Is there not a moon which is actually a coin that some kid tossed too high before starting a game of cricket?
Is there not a moon that rains down cool nectar making the thousand petalled lotus bloom in the poet's mind?
Is there not a moon that burns with the fire of a thousand suns even on a winter night because the shoulders of beloved do not meet?
Is there not a moon that drips exquisite poison maddening a nervous heart and filling it with fantastic terrors?
Is there not a moon conspicuous by its absences, telling us tales of what might have been, of a future that is now orphaned with neither a past nor a present?
Is there not a moon that glows with ethereal beauty, whispering all the secrets of the universe that nobody ever sees or hears because our timid little hearts are buried in insignificant troubles?
So yes, my daughter, you are right.
We saw anana moon and we always will.
