I wrote to the moon once, it cried out to me
how painfully it stands alone in the dark.
The bits of clouds dream of being the stars,
with the light beaming through them.
The dandelions hiss as they lose themselves,
bewildered little books with unread pages,
streaming away in the mouth of the wind.
The rainbow aches to be touched,
to be felt, to be understood.
The earth’s revolutions and rotations showcase its struggle
to move on.
The stars are just little bits of the moon,
feeling abandoned and lost
in the forest of the sky.

Nature’s whimsical music pours from our heart,
from our emotions,
from our emptiness.
We belong,
we have power.

I wrote to the earth once,
it told me about how the planets
look down upon it,
they don’t see the life in it.
And I just told it,
that planets like these
live in our souls, too.

We are not victims.
We are not trapped.
We are an answer.
We are a reason.
We are from a universe who is struggling
Everyday,
with us,
we are all a part of the same painting,
but we still don’t accept each other’s different shades,
different strokes.