There is a place in existence

a celestial city of gases that swirl and whirl

where atoms kiss and collide

where hot spells squirm and engulf without


where forces cannot be mistook for fragments

of mortal imagination

Where power is.

There is a place within a place

a suburbia of sorts

where spheres motion yet never collide

where orbs hum and croon and harmonize

a hypnotizing monotony

that remains for all eternity.

Within that place lies

a place called home

a household of vast land and yet of vaster sea

where mortals wander and discover and

make trouble and recover

where spirits destroy and apologize for destruction

and make false promises of reconstruction

where beings boast of their facts and so called truths

where souls cross bridges and burn bridges

and remember only the smell of smoke that remains

where minds fantasize of strength and dream of moving mountains

where eyes blindly look away from monsters that lie beyond the edge of our vision

where thoughts stray away from the Heavens

and the hell it can bring.

In the comforts of home we put up walls and fences

In the comforts of home we close windows and lock doors

In the comforts of home we build blanket forts in living rooms 

In the comforts of home we frolic amongst the towers of pillows

In the comforts of home we console ourselves with the notion that we are nothing short of grand.

Look outside.

Ain’t we grand?

Copyright © Imana Gunawan