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Poem

Like snowflakes, no two stars are alike,
despite their myriad declension,
to minuscule pin-pricks in sky above.
Unlike the sameness of sand-grains 
scattered willy-nilly on a beach,
that no one notices or cares
of their randomness in profusions,
looking up, we see the pattern of stars,
unique, one by one or in gathered collusion.

In galaxies, the blinking stars curl and swirl. 
Their spiral arms stream to awaken their dangling tales.
To the ancient star gazers the milky way appears as milk split
by the Greek goddess Hera while nursing Heracles.
Or as cornmeal crumbs dropped 
as the Cherokee dog ran away.
It's a pathway, a rainbow, a river, a snake or a crocodile
connecting heavens and Earth, 
connecting spirits and souls to hope and the underworld.

For us, here and now with all our fancy scopes,
The more you look, the more you see.
Each star in the sprinkle is unique in color, shape, age, and its twinkle.
The more you venture back in time,
into the myriads of mind boggling light years away,
the more the unique layers of patterns
are revealed, with countless, endless
myriads of possibilities, beyond apprehension,
in the milky way, supposedly spat out 
by Big Bang spurts.

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