Man seeks to measure

how bright a star could be.

He keeps gazing up

the night sky,

reaching out to her

ever glowing soul.

Man wears his most

reassuring smile,

uses his most

wondrous voice,

and stares at her

with the utmost

adoration he could

master.

The star, ever so lightly

pulled by this gravity

strips bare a portion

of her soul,

lashes out rather harshly

a fraction of her heart.

Never has she ever

stumbled upon such

magnetic field-

this magnetic field

so strong it brought out

the brightest she could

ever be,

and it was then

as though,

it were the only

thing that mattered.

No big bang would

suffice to this

tremendous cosmic

explosion-

and time was frozen,

and blizzards of

fragmented metaphors

flew from one space

to another,

from his mouth

to her skin,

her lips

to his touch.

An explosion too much

for existence that

‘magic’ failed to

sound anything special.

But as every tale should be,

hamartia filled up

the miniscule black spaces;

man did not sound

like the kindest home

he was six months ago,

he looked back with

a confusion

the star never knew existed.

And so the night slips

into silence;

the risen star now too bright

in his losing eyes,

the space becoming

an empty vacuum,

indicating that if there was

a time before,

then there will be

a time after;

now is that time after.

An explosion too much

for existence it became

a distortion.

The pitch black emptiness

now too loud,

the light of the night

shutting off.

Man seeks to distance

himself with the starlight.

He despises gazing up

the night sky,

erasing each trace of her

ever glowing soul;

a galactic distortion

amongst them;

the fallen star,

now too unfamiliar

to his adjusting eyes.