The Stars Become Flowers

 

The stars in my hands are pale, and delicate, but strong flowers
slowly blooming right there, right now as if time
was no burden to them at all, or time could not stop them;
and they are shining so bright
as if laughter had kissed them on their lips
and now they cannot stop smiling
as the sunlight shines on their day,
drenching in the sunlight,
becoming little suns,
as they sing a song in the night in the universe that they live in
to let someone know,
and red giants sitting on horizontal branches wave at them,
that they can lean on someone’s shoulder
to rest and sigh slowly,
to breathe in and to breathe out rest and quietness,
like the way that a river does
that becomes into an ocean
with its waves;
knowing that they need to be still
and rest into something far bigger than themselves.

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