As the curtains rises, the silence follows —
A prevailing coat of night protects the smaller stars from the wrath of the sun.
Night protects the world from the day.
Bad news can be delivered in the comfort of the night,
without the judgement from the day
exposed in the light for all to see.
Just like clockwork, and the sun wakes.
Feeling calm despite witnessing the darkness and
envying the other stars and moon for glowing brightly without end —
exposed in the light for all to see.
The minute and hour hands of a grandfather clock
busy themselves climbing in circles preparing for
the stroke of dawn,
before emitting the trumpet sound awakening those around.
The world awaits the arrival of the sun slowly rising
up painting the sky soft hues of pink, purple, orange.
The colors mix, never dimming
like a bruise of royalty.
Before the prideful blue seeps in and robs the performance,
Blue vainly takes its space and carries with him fluffed up clouds
manipulating the scenery, the mood, the audience.
Eyes admire the birds — something prideful blue does not know.
Beauty, finite, just like the clouds that disappear with every touch —
untouchable.
The arrogant sun moves along and judges the wind, the clouds, and the moon.
The sun is alone occasionally hiding behind clouds
until finally his disgust renders him sleepy and so he slumbers.
Just as the sun rises, the sun also sets.
The stars take their places and right on cue to form their constellations:
Ursa Major, Orion, Cassiopeia, Draco.
Excitement runs in the stars as the performance begins,
shooting stars have their short-lived moment of glory —
arriving with nothing and leaving with infinite wishes.
Fireflies dance mimicking the stars sharing in their brightness.
The moon coexists with the constellations mocking the sun and blue.