“A Half-Read Page

In the soft grammar of night,

I misplace myself between commas and silence,

as if meaning were never meant to be fixed.

The moon edits the sky without explanation,

and I, like a half-read page,

wait to be understood but not completed.

There is a strange elegance in not knowing

a syntax of becoming,

where even confusion feels carefully composed.

No grand revelation arrives,

only the quiet certainty

that feeling does not need to conclude

to be real.

— Vaishnavi Ojha