Type : poem

She caught sight of the stunning starlight,
and allowed it to seep through,
her mind gave way to the steady stream,
of the night sky’s aesthetic stimulus,
supplied so strangely by and to,
her watchful retina,

She saw the sinews of space it’s self,
the shapes that sprang from their synergy,
constellations who’s names,
she had never spared a thought,
nothing effable could describe,
the undistilled splendour of such a sight.

Bathing in a soothing shower of solace,
devoid of any sort or semblance,
of the sanguine squalor she often endured,
a placid smile spread,
across lips unaware.

She stared at heaven, and kept on staring,
saturated in simplicity recondite,
so soon she thought, she’d have to leave,
she’d rather stay and see the fractal,
incessantly soaring at speeds so slight,

Suddenly she sought to capture and seal,
the moment so profound,
forever, so as not to forget,
the seamless phases that had lead,
to these sensations of object-less sympathy,
but as soon as she pulled out her phone,
the magic broke.

The mythical grandeur her mind had conjured,
existed only behind her eyes,
already fading as it was projected,
onto the mechanical rectangle,
it’s self a sensory organ,
benign, inert, ambiguous, misleading,

Slowly, as she emerged out of,
what was becoming a banal reverie,
still contemplating the picture,
a notification lit the screen,
tempting her out of her world,
refocusing her on the mundane.

Bathing in a soothing shower of solace,
devoid of any sort or semblance,
of the sanguine squalor that was her life,
a placid smile had spread,
across lips so smooth and unaware,
of their very own existence.

And before she could begin to grasp,
the essence of what had come to pass,
it slithered away, through her fingers,
down-stream and into the past,
what seemed so good had lost it’s meaning,
existence commodified, nature instrumentalised,
an addiction fuelled to classify,
feelings forsaken and unthunk thoughts,
in an attempt to categorise,
what would otherwise have been,
a fragment added to her half soul,
destined to die, forever lost,
either forgotten or distorted,
contorted perversely by bad faith,
under the omnipresent eye,
that watched over Winston as he slept.

This is my first poem, I wrote it when I was 17.