Must we drink dregs of customs, 
watch as fledgling  
flings itself towards Orion’s eye,  
it would take too much time to explain 
as to why lips are burning shut, 
why desolation 
despite being so far from the observatory  
feels real, 
the will to survive is extraordinary and  
at times overwhelming, 
can fashion some form of normality  
even out of the darkest hour. 

I converse with heavens, make a few notes 
and go for a midnight walk, 
moon beams guide 
my steps 
between tree shadows 
and unfathomable tracks, all the while
putting up with apathy of owls. 

Conviction, it is believed, is as though fingers 
delicately plucking a harp, 
singing songs  
when one is convinced that he has lost his  
voice—I wait,  
and wait under the sky 
until my heart becomes a rhythm that echoes; 
can we go back to when everything was simple?





Also for Day 4 of April Poetry Writing Month ~

Photo Credits: Hotel. This is the Kulmhotel Gornergrat Observatory, Switzerland,
by John McKaveney

Lillian is our lovely hostess at dVerse where she invites us to write inspired from
photographs by her friend from San Diego: John McKaveney ❤️

Posted for Poetics: Stepping out of this world @dVerse Poets Pub