Concerning The Stars
A philosopher once complained
that the stars refused to answer questions.
For forty years he interrogated the heavens.
What is justice?
What survives death?
Why beauty?
Why suffering?
The stars responded only with light.
At last, old and exhausted,
he climbed a hill one winter evening
and asked no question at all.
The sky unfolded above him
in magnificent indifference.
A silence vast enough
to contain every mystery.
There, finally, he understood:
the stars had been answering all along.
Not with explanations.
With presence.
For some truths cannot be spoken,
only witnessed.
And perhaps wisdom begins
when certainty ends,
when one learns to stand beneath eternity
without demanding that eternity become small.
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