The Colour of Night Sky

Swing, swing, swing Sitting on the wooden swing underneath the night sky Head upward. Something up there exhilarated my eyes, So they keep on searching for him. Tonight, a stage the sky is. The nomad clouds are golden curtains. Behind them there, he is hiding well. Soon the wind blows away the golden curtains just to expose The dazzling round face of him. Where is the rhyme? Where is the words? Where is moves? Just how astonishing watching at the night stage. Everything at where they belong performing something peculiar. A arm raised up Pointing at him. If I could touch him once . But the sky is too afraid If I will steal him away. Who planted this bright flower on the sky ? Around millions of lanterns some unknown man hanged up , Lighting up the dark stage, Fencing him up altogether. The only flower bloom throughout the night. Trying to count down how many petals does he has. People say nothing is impossible but still there is something not possible. Because of him, blue, the colour of night sky standing above me. Piece by piece he appears in different shapes, on different nights. Only to be seen the whole him once in a month . All my glances fixed on him tonight. On my lens falls the reflection of him. Reflecting someone whose face have been drawn in the book of my memory long ago. Click, click, click. Capturing the beautiful him with the square shaped robot on my hand . Now, what is left? Sharing the shots with that someone. Did you see the moon tonight too? I have to ask that someone. The colour of night sky ahead me is always blue. Because you are my moon.