There in front were the stars,
almost at eye level.
Although the stars were there, so close to the touch,
they did not sparkle like her eyes.
They drew out, on the canvas of the black night sky,
The flowers were lovely yellow yesterday evening,
and they grew wholly, like carpets of dreams,
but today, they were nothing in comparison to her.
Their yellows were duller and their stalks less turgid.
Below there were no roads to travel, that had not her voice
attached to the wandering signposts, as they whipped by.
Their wanderings were just a walk away.
What should i sing, or utter to stop comparing her to the world,
for she is everything in the world, nothing less.
Knowing her is almost like talking to the universe or playing with life,
until one sees the secrets all unfolding.
Passion is passive in this world, that so cruelly takes her away.