Notes About The Poem
Written 10th August, 2026 for Deviants and Divine Poetry Contest sponsored by Silent One.
Cosmos and Chaos
Planets.
Pearl-bright.
Patient.
Each one
a polished bead
gliding through
black silk,
each silver arc
held in a hush
of law.
No crash.
No cry.
Only curves.
Only the slow
spill of moonlight
across distance,
only the clean
turn of bodies
kept by light.
Black hole.
Bruise in space.
Mouth of midnight.
A hunger
with no face.
It takes light
as breath.
Bends it.
Breaks it.
Leaves nothing
but the shape
of a void.
Not ornament.
Not mercy.
Not even anger.
Just appetite.
Just absence
with teeth.
And still —
it belongs.
A flaw
in fine glass.
A dark seed
in the stars.
A wound
the sky
does not close.
The pearl
and the prism,
the ring
of ice-bright moons,
the seam of light
stitched across dark,
the lucid lattice
of orbit.
The planets keep
their measured glow —
white fire,
silver tide,
a clean geometry
of turning.
We live
by such motion too.
The calculated
white fire of habit,
the cold silver
of our duties.
And then
the pulse.
A wilder rapture
that does not circle,
an internal eclipse,
a sudden,
faceless hunger.
Small orbits.
Hidden falls.
A face
still bright
while gravity
breaks beneath.
So let the heavens
remain uneven.
Let the black hole
keep devouring.
Let the planets
keep circling
their silver law,
their pearl-lit rounds,
their patient,
lucid blaze.
Beauty, perhaps,
is not innocent.
Only pattern
holding
at the edge
of disappearing.
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