Constellation

 

I stare out of my window pane -

It is the dark dismal of night

But faraway,

Are shimmering mofussil lights

Sparkling like a constellation

As if the stars themselves

Have come down to sprinkle gold

On the tarp of evening ink

 

Why do they melt a bit of warmth

In me though, I wonder?

Perhaps because as I swirl

On my own lonely trail

In an empty Milky Way

They sing a stellar choir

Kindred stars that have come together

Pulsing, throbbing

Lending that comrade glow

That the horizon gleams

In an orchestra of lights

 

Sometimes my heart wishes

I too could join

That spectrum of light

Where my fallen starlight

Resurrects from the laughter peals

Of that galaxy over there;

I smile, but deep inside –

I know the better truth

 That there is no galaxy

Nor any constellation

Just the mirage of these eyes

That see what they want to see

 

We are all but scattered stars

Some lost, far away from home

Others trail like Sisyphus

In an infinite ellipse of nothingness;

It is only from light years afar

That these vagrants are projected

On a single horizon of wistfulness

Where they thrive together, sing together

In the delirium of the brooding dark

And whisper –

 

There is no brotherhood save one -

Of singularity, of isolation

With broken shards of hope

That in some faraway part

Of this forlorn universe

Perhaps, there are kindred stars indeed

That come together

Pulsing, throbbing -

Lending that comrade glow

That the horizon gleams

In an orchestra of lights…

 

24^th July’ 2024