Sometimes you see him, and sometimes you don’t.
When night light is dim, he is seen at the horizon.
As he moves across the sky, disappearing as the sun rises.
Spreading less or more light and increasing its shape and size.
Fascinated we were by Grandmother calling him Chanda Mama,
Meaning Moon Uncle (mother’s brother), great story teller.
Who puts us all to sleep, while he travels across the sky,
While we counted sheep, he glided across like a butter fly.
As kids, we saw him as the kind man in the moon with a smiling face,
While walking alone he was reassuring and gliding keeping with us same pace.
Growing up, the fascination with Chanda Mama or the man in the moon wanes,
But comes back in our children when we tell them his songs and poems.