The town seemed most silent in the pit of night
against the roar of the artist’s madness
swirling with the wind.
It whispered a question:
How could the stars be so bright
in the darkest hours of the night?
Oh starry starry night, I too have felt that madness.
The night has knocked at my very own window.
The stars have asked me who I want to be.
I want to be someone’s starry night.
I want to exist in shades of blue and mellow yellows,
bring out the color in someone’s world
the way the moon had the ability
to light up every inch of the universe
and seep into sleeper’s windows to whisper “goodnight”.