As stars flock with an element of grace,
They glide past earthly objects,
With a panoramic pride. Affordable from a hilltop,
Is the roll of the earth eastward, a palpable movement,
The sovereign brilliance of twinkling spots,
On the dark expanse, and below bundles of snowdrop,
Hyacinth and carnations in pink, violet and yellow,
When mankind is dream rapt, and disregardful,
Of such proceedings, what a nocturnal fest!
It’s then hard to leave this majestic consciousness,
And return to the tiny human frame.

With nightly attendance, the stars twinkle in unison,
A common pulse that governs,
Their seemingly throbbing twinkle,
Not the irregularities in the seasons, or the collapse,
Of the fungi, or embrowning by frost, or the chill,
Of the wind that rubbed and raked, and brushed
The grassy blades; none would stop.
Furious pulsations of the wind, feminine and fierce,
Breezed through the earthly curves,
A close juxtaposition with an infuriated universe,
One could feel every part of the sky, breaking,
Heaven opens up, with a bright luster that reflects,
A novel, and strangely dangerous nature,
Of twilight, it could scare as well,
Twigs clashed in strife, with no human sounds,
This surreal world is but a history by itself.