A night walk under the starlit sky,
Embracing its passersby.
Focused with a goal in his mind,
All obstructions had been left behind.
A breccia with different plans,
Brought him down from his stance.
Intertwined him in her path,
Unraveling an emotional wrath.
An explosive cosmic occurrence
Threw him under her inadvertence.
Impaired by temporary amnesia,
Drugged by the love anaesthesia.
In an unexpected leap of fate,
Before her eyes now he laid.
Eclipsed by her frequency,
He quickly tuned into synchronicity.
Serendipity was to blame,
He was just a player in the game.
When you learn to see with closed eyes,
A whole new dimension will arise.
-Inactive Volcano
Apollo 11 reshapes thousands of thoughts and beliefs
on the earth,
sprawling on the lunar lap.
I wish I could collect those pre-Apollo eyes
from the sand
and show them the moon is not God.
But they belong to
the same species living in peace of ignorance today.
Fanaticism is a fireball.
True belief illuminates like the moon.
Prayer prevents the immoral anarchy.
Not a reflection of sunlight,
it’s nature’s solace spreading over the wounds.
How differently it shines in science and literature!
It’s as veracious as a breccia
that the moon is dusty, gritty and abrasive.
But that hare is more beautiful than the rocky truth.
First printed in The Literary Hatchet