Vacant Memories

Meteor shower on the silent night,
A secret prayer from inside the heart of a child?
What could that be? A toy? A chocolate?
May be the desire to fly, to those shooting stars
With their burning tails vanishing in a moment
Before the awe is felt, sunken into the imagination...

The cold winter nights lit up with stars
Dazzling my mind lifting the spirits high
As He lay down under the naked skies,
No worries bribing the pure heart,
No limits, no deadlines, for His imagination
All He needed was to see, witness the majesty of the Dark Sky!

As if He could listen to them speaking,
Smiling as the slowly drift,
People called him , for the World knew not what He dreamt
All that was needed was the 7 Saint Stars to lighten his heart
As if they were his friends!
All the secrets die with the poems,
Poems of pain, poems of Love!

Poems pregnant with memories,
Someday someone will nurse, raise in secret
Someone will save the child
For each word written, scattered across the blinks and poems speak!
Scared, Lonely, Weak, Kind, Acting... If these were the words used to describe a coward
What do they call a child who could talk to himself?
Find a friend within himself?
Find a friend among the stars?
Among the deep dark skies and the silent Winds?
Among the Words unseen, unspoken,
Among the prayers unanswered,
Among the busy crowd, busy blood
Among the secrets untold...

Do we call him a Poet?
Or may be a Child with enough secrets to flood the world with His poems...