Alpha Centauri

1. I was wondering… Why do I write? Why anyone may need to write anything?
2. Is it because of the fame one may achieve? Is it because of the money one can make? Is it because of a sense of immortality one can have? After one is gone the poem is left behind…
3. We take a look at the stars in the night sky. They seem so faint yet they are so bright. They are so distant yet they seem to be so close to our hearts…
4. And we wonder. Are the stars the reason of our inspiration? Are the stars responsible for turning the darkness into light?
5. A poem is like a star… Even the faintest of them is able to bring the light into the darkness of our heart. The farthest a star can be the more we try to reach it and explore the secret of our mind.
6. We close our eyes. We try to forget about the stars. We turn off the light. Still we can hear the sound of a firefly buzzing in our thought.
7. Even in the absolute darkness there seems to be something vibrating, lighten up by its friction with that crude substance of emptiness.
8. We were told that it was not a firefly. Instead it was a virtual particle which emerged from nothingness and jumped into reality.
9. We can imagine that our thoughts are like virtual particles which emerge from the depths of our unconscious mind and build up our reality.
10. A poem is made of words like an object is made of particles. We have to find the laws which connect the words. We have to find a place in the universe with the secret library.
11. We open our mind and release our thoughts. All the words disappear. We can hear the roar of absolute emptiness. Deep in our gut we listen to the cry of a newborn baby god. We take a breath and shout out loud.
12. We realize that it has never been the glory we might have achieved. It was not the riches of the world what made life important. It was just a grain of sand we have been trying to hold in our hands. A dream palace made of stardust on the shores of our greatest expectation.
13. It is the profound impact of the universal emptiness and the frightening feeling of our unbearable loneliness what makes us want to sing and shout, to laugh and cry, to be so much creative or destructive.
14. It has been our desperate attempt to save ourselves from a pervading thought of unworthiness which brought us close to madness. To say something or write it down.
15. We now open our eyes. The stars are still there. And here is the poem. That star seems to be the closest to us. I will call the poem Alpha Centauri…
16. A poem is like a star. After we are gone it will keep on shinning. It is there either you like it or not.

8/8/2018

Picture: The Sun as seen from Alpha Centauri

[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alpha_Centauri]