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Resonating souls within,
Gems only found on stars,
Shooting for infinite beauty,
Paths collide again and again,
Moving homes,
Around the world,
Where I just want to be,
An adventurous traveller,
Smiling for the rising sun,
Painting my constellation
With dancing angelic beings,
Always sharing their heartbeats,
A masterful choreography,
Designed in sophistication,
Whom I consider my home,
Housing my soul in theirs.

The Figure and Her

Like a perfect morning Spring breeze,
Like a rare galactic celestial star,
Like an iron heart beating for a lost twin,
Mesmerising momentarily in greater depth,
At a figure, she paints from the unknown,
A mixture of shadows, a masterpiece, a landscape,
For her to soar, like a bird,
For her to cherish, like a treasure,
For what life brings her, like this figure,
And so, it starts to dance to her smiles,
Stargazing at her beating heart that twinkles afar,
And in turn, she snows nearby landing on its cheeks,
Hearing its whispers as she silences the world,
For seven hours straight, the figure is her all,
For many more at night, she is its delicate soul,
Without her, the figure is emotionless,
The son of a concerned mother,
The brother of a proud sister,
The aging father of a little girl,
To it, she becomes the definition of home,
A place to hold onto and to always return,
A shelter to its heart, a constellation to its mind,
An ongoing novella depicting the merging of souls,
Linguistically phenomenal as both start to realise,
A preface of dubbed barriers to never lose a translation,
A chapter of tones to reach complete perception,
And yet, a different chapter consumes all emotions,
Like a breeze that comes and goes,
Like a shooting star nowhere to be found,
Like a heart that switches to a highborn,
The plot thickens and the twist befalls,
A heavenly meeting was decreed for a resolution,
Three decades holding onto nomadic tents,
Leaving few years thinking to never come back,
And yet, this figure, out of nowhere comes back,
Part of the desert, earthly merged for eternity,
For what reasoning this soul comprehends
Is beyond the logical laws of a galactic universe,
The figure and her are just a story of a great return.

Three Celestial Miracles

When the moon nourishes the heart of a forlorn sand,
And when the shooting star orbits around Polaris,
Where shall the nomadic sand go to seek seeds of guidance?
If not for the celestial bodies embedded in our skies,
The moon would dwell on uneven edges of the Earth,
But as a sand seeking a fruitful tomorrow,
I camp on mountainous constellations,
Listening to Polaris’ revelations,
How the everlasting silences of the shooting star
Will recreate the Big Bang,
How the infinite smiles of the moon
Will redirect the flow of Time,
And we may once more wonder where will the
Forlorn nomadic sand be if not for these three?

Two Sides of the Same War

The space is spilling its own secrets,
But a void is trying to interrupt the
Communications, and a wooden door
Was opened, I heard it myself, stars
Running through it as if horses or
Soldiers or freedom fighters, or waves
Upon waves of nature’s way to show
A peaceful movement, and there –
There! A shooting star leading the
Resistance against all of the void,
And the horns of battle have been
Blown, and now, stars clash against
Blackness somewhere into the space,
The sky starts to be filled with fog,
Obscuring the battlefield, everything
Is now cloudy, but I can feel the stars
Are starting to diminish – our poor
Sky is gathering their dust and is
Now full of tears, we are getting
Drenched by their sorrow while
Both space and void sit back on
Their comfy chairs shaking hands
After all pawns gone: checkmated.