Cosmic Firing

My call is wireless and radar-free— the cosmic chasm I enter with my rowboat. With a temptation to set eyes on the edges of this grand confinement, I learn the impossibility of my own finite movement. As my heart syncs with that impossibility, I resort to my imaginative supernovas. And in those dark corners that squash time, I write to you to declare an earthly phenomenon we call poetry. At times it rhymes, and like your essence, it carries a form— but with moments of unwanted chaos. I dig deep into my voidless thoughts, and jump twice in my leap of faith. Yet, my eyes cannot see you, and my God is all too human. My cards show your order, but I fall deaf to the mystery of your creation. My body holds the blueprint and carries the tension of my constant knocks— in the absence of love, in the fracture of human relationships, communication far from me. But my words fall somewhere in faint horizons without grapple, far from the frontiers of my knowing. And my shots in the dark will continue to fire, ringing an echo in this infinite centre of eternity.