Space Travel, A Story's Tale, The Seeds, Palmyra: The Fallen Ruins
There is a sound; of a certain kind.
Permeating all space. A traveller’s hummings.
A low whistle-like, melancholic.
Or akin the humms of a great engine.
It’s more a song than a sound.
As if, a far forgotten home, calls.
Incessant, it gives a backdrop of notes,
To the bleak darkness of space.
What hears one, the others hears not.
For the sound, is not a song, heard by all the same.
Instead, it speaks, not in words but through feelings.
For each, it brings a different message.
In the midst of fervent activity,
It summons the mind to listen.
For in space, one must learn to take,
The guidance from the ever-present singer.
The same sound, I heard in the womb.
Heard it, in passionate exercise of love.
Unmistakably, it was there, around my death-bed
A friendship forged in infinity.