Looking Down At Myself

This was written years ago, on my eighteenth birthday. (I intended to respect myself and not make any modification to the original script.)

When I look up at the sky, I see not any stars;
Nor do I see any planet, moon, cloud, neither any comet.

What I see are faces.

Faces, looking down at me, speaking to me and calling me…
Every face forms a star; and every star — a face.

Weird faces!
Some laugh, some cry, some mock
And the rest haunt.
Some of the faces are known when some of them are strangers
I know those strangers. Don’t I?

Some even taunt!
Save wildly. Just carrying a lean smile –
A delicate way to convey “I care.”
Those subtle twinkles assure me that they are there… always.
To supervise my life.

Even when the life stuffles its suffocating canopy of danger,
The faint glow reaches the soul.
“We are there,
Rise up and rise high.
Friends, Roman and countrymen,
Lend me whatever you are left with.”

The voices slowly fade; the fading ripples of the Rushmore Lake.
Don’t go away, they plead.
Please stay.
Please stay.
Stay for the sake of… the unknown truth.

Alas. Why the wretched clouds need to intrude?
Every time when there is a glimmer of hope, they never fail mimick quick sand.
Lost to those who do not just smile, but chuckle vigorously.
And in their vigorousness, one sees contempt –
As if mocking the me,
My existence, ambitions, dreams, aspirations.

Can they jeopardize? Am I a slave to the clouds?

The answer lies across the shore.
Where I see rich stars.
Their extravagance is made evident from their showers of bright light.
Is it their generosity? Or a selfish attitude?

Nevertheless… they are in tranquility.
And that is ALL that they are in.
They have their desires kissing their feet. But can they grant a wish?
Desires of those stars that are too weak to glow or have crossed their time.
Can they revive the tottering soul from the dwindling juncture of life?

The affluent stars shine on in isolated patches.
Those that are deprived, laugh.
They laugh not to forget their defficacy, but to pity on the apparent plush.

The search for those stars are on.
For those who are seen no more, at those places where they once used to be.
Now that the sky is dark, I close my eyes and see them so more.
So full, so fresh… happy in a new life.

Some form images, some work out the future, some find their way.
I contemplate.
One day soon, I too will follow them
And become a faint little speck up in the sky.

Will you see me from down here?

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