The world began — or so they say —
And the stars got bored one day.

They spilled some light, misplaced a tune,
And tripped upon a newborn moon.

 

 

The moon, of course, was quite confused,
It blinked, it glowed, it gently mused:
“If I exist, then who are you?”
The stars just laughed — “We wonder too.”

 

 

The clouds arrived in grand debate,
About what shape they should create.
A duck? A fish? A kingly face?
They change their minds with perfect grace.

 

For freedom knows no measured key,

No map, no plan , just pure array—

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No map, no plan , not a reply,​

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The dance becomes its own “why.”

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The rhythm speaks, both sharp and true,

A pulse of red, a trace of blue.

 

A pause, a breath — the tango defined,

No ask, no thought, at the edge of mind.

 

 

The floor eavesdrops, started to lean,

No follow, no lead — just in between.

 

 

A dream forgets which side it’s on,

The count is lost, and the move goes on.

 

The melody speaks with all that is,

And silence appears to carry the rest.

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No words remain, nothing behove,

Still air — breathing a move.

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For all we wonder, we always knew —

The dance was never just the view.