As I look up at the sky so high,
a treasure trove of puppet catches my eye,
I see the strings in hand of the glowing moon,
and the stars around it, spinning in tune.
In this show, a tale is told,
of love and loss, so painfully bold,
sorrow engulfs me, a melancholic toll,
as the story rolls out like a scroll.
The puppets dance, their faces lit,
by the moon's glow, like a spotlight hit,
but as the show ends, I feel alone,
In this vast universe, I'm just a clone.
Like a drop in the ocean, like a sand grain in desert we are too small to be seen. Great observation, Dr M. Asim Nehal Ji
We see many stars in Desert area, less pollution, clear sky and plain horizon. Now I wonder are they puppets in the hands of Sun and Moon as they borrow light and emit. Great philosophy of life from galaxy of stars.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Loneliness is too absurd most of the times. Ask LeeAnn about it. I feel the same way as you two do.