The starry sky once asked me,
"Which is your favorite star?"
I said, "That's such a pointless thought,
since they're all so far."
On hearing this he smiled at me,
the brightest smile he could,
and said, "Does that thought bother you?"
I said, "Of course it would."
He thought a while before he said,
"Do you believe in me?"
I said, "Yes, I believe in you,
you’re much more than you seem."
He looked quite astounded,
on hearing this from me,
and requested I elaborate
on what that statement might mean.
I started off by telling him
about those summer nights
spent lying on the cool, damp grass, surrounded by fireflies;
hoping that perhaps someday,
I might too be a star,
looking down on all the world
from somewhere very far.
I talked about the way that
he holds space for everyone –
lending himself to mighty eagles,
dragonflies, and to the sun.
A space so vast and empty;
end to end one could not fathom.
And yet brimming with life,
endless, like an iridescent chasm.
A blanket of sheer darkness
marked by freckles of bright light;
an ever-changing map to guide
the traveler of the night.
And when the weary traveler’s
time of rest is nearly done,
the sacrificial night sky gives
up all its darkness to the sun.
I told him he epitomized
the formlessness of Time,
a concept still perplexing
to the meagre human mind.
The night – a time of reminiscence
for the lonesome brokenhearted;
as they excavate old memories
of loved ones too soon departed.
A time for the young poet
to finally lift her quivering quill,
and put to paper all the feelings
she had sworn she never will.
A time for all the artists
and for every castaway
to congregate and find acceptance
in some random art café.
I told the night sky he was beautiful,
in all his strengths and flaws –
from when the soft zephyr would blow,
to when the thunder roars.
From the waves of Northern Lights
that set the darkest skies ablaze,
to the lonely snow-capped mountain
with unchanging, ancient ways.
From the way the clouds above us – nimbostratus tufts, when stressed
with liquid burden, shed upon us
milk from Mother Nature’s breast;
milk that fills each surface crater,
so, the moon of pale complexion,
pulls on our sea and ocean tides
as an act of self-reflection.
When my monologue came to an end,
I looked up the sky
and felt a raindrop on my nose,
as he began to cry.
“I’d never thought I played a role
as crucial as outlined.
You’ve opened these celestial eyes
through that ‘meagre’ human mind.”
He spoke to me like we’d been friends
for a thousand bygone lives.
But as I looked towards the east,
the sun’s first rays had warmed the skies.
"I am immensely moved, my dear,
you humans have a way
of keeping ancient beings as old as time
until the light of day.
I feel terrible for leaving,
but the sun will be here soon.
We'll talk again some other night,
I'll introduce you to the moon.
I thought I’d carve a space in
my old beating heart for you,
but I see that your veins already hold
a shade of midnight blue.”
I watched this cosmic being,
in his inky blue-black glory
step out of what was now the sun’s
yellow-orange territory.
And while leaving he called out,
“Hey, little human, I’ll come find you.
When your quill runs out of ink
I’ll make it rain blue to remind you –
You are never, ever alone.
My moon will be your light.
My stars exist in countless numbers
for when nothing’s going right.
My clouds in layers will protect you
from whatever comes your way,
until its time for me to let go
and hand you over to the day.
Speaking of – it is now time
that I must do exactly that.
I cannot wait until we meet up
for another night-long chat.
Goodbye my friend, it felt surreal,
to meet someone so true.
Your place is up among the greatest;
the night sky awaits you."