When I hear you
talk about
"forever,"
it makes me
wonder
if the big, wide world
could ever compare
to this tiny room
or me and you.

You
make me want
to be
infinite

--even if infinity
looks like Tuesday nights
and lukewarm beer
singing drunken carols
while planning for all
our projects in one go--

If I could
live forever
in this small monotony,
I suppose
there are worse
ways to never
die.

Stars,planets, space, infinite expanse.
Is it just old light?
Is it just ice, rocks and dust?
Is life all encompassing?
Is coalescence a must?
Writing a verse about the universe.
Is matter the chorus written within the song of infinity?
Does gravity flow and ebb like the tide?
Does time writhe and struggle like the dying beast?
Will the void consume as does a king at his feast?
What is it that planets discuss?
"What is really at your core?"
"Do you know your own state?"
"Be it solid, liquid, gas or plasma?"
"Perhaps do you contain condensate?"
Collapsing, contracting, imploding, eroding.
Was it all just a sneeze of creation by some omnipotent presence?
What does it all mean?
Where is the essence?

She sat on the park bench
basking in the afternoon sun,
when a brown ripe oaknut landed on her lap.

She gazed at it without distraction,
Its colour, shape, symmetry-filled her with immense satisfaction.
The English Oak tree had crafted it with perfection.

Clearly, it was there with a message-

You will take a lifetime,
to truly know my nature.
How could you ever get bored,
when there is creator’s magic everywhere.