Moonstronauts Poem by Henry Igbinedion

They rise on a pillar of fire,
leaving behind the noise of nations,
the weight of argument,
the smallness of borders

The pillar of fire
carries them outward—
not to conquer,
but to witness
what waits beyond the familiar sky.

Earth loosens its hold slowly.
Blue fades into distance,
into something precious
because it is leaving them.

They do not speak much of fear.
It sits quietly beside them—
acknowledged,
but not obeyed.

Ahead—
the far side.

That hidden face
that has watched us for ages
without ever being seen
by the naked eye of home.

And when they cross into it—
there is a moment,
sharp and absolute—

no signal,
no voice,
no Earth.

Only the craft,
the crew,
and the deep, unbroken silence
of space itself.

They pass behind the Moon—
into absence,
into the oldest dark
human beings have ever entered alive.

No applause follows them there.
No headlines reach that place.
Only the steady pulse of courage,
the quiet trust in return.

And then—

light begins again.

Signals return like breath.
Voices find one another.
Earth rises—
not beneath their feet,
but ahead of their longing.

They have circled the unseen,
touched the edge of isolation,
and come back carrying
something difficult to name.

Not triumph—
something deeper.

A knowing.

That we are small—
yet capable of crossing
immense silence.

That we are fragile—
yet willing to leave everything familiar
to understand what lies beyond it.