Solar System in Suspension

I wonder what happened to that

Wondrous little seedling

That wakes up at midnight, craving for milk

But then he reaches for the stars

Instead of crying

He then looks up upon his wooden box

The whole solar system suspended above him

Tilts and turns to every gush

and every swish of the slightly opened window.

A sweep of an indefinite duration of hypnosis

I wonder how suddenly his rocket

That gone up with flames, as he grew up

Now burns itself into tiny particles?

Was it destined to be; or

Was it someone’s fault? or

Was it the parents

Who wakes too late for breakfast

And helplessly flow like the black hole of growing up:

Of indecisiveness and ignorance and unending oblivion?

What was of this seedling who became a comet

who burns its crystals as farther as he goes?

What was of his life had we missed?

What had been of this seedling?

The fact of the questionable

reminds me of that same child I saw

inside this polished deep crib

who was this little sprout of ignorance

Who doesn’t mind reaching far beyond those of others

But of how he wants to reach those twisty stars

At midnight

As the gush of the wind gives way to a baby’s laughter

I wonder what could have been of that seedling as what I saw in him…

It could have been the best blessing ever.


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