A new star has been discovered,

which doesn't mean it's gotten any brighter

or something missing has been gained.

The star is large and distant,

so distant, that it's small,

even smaller than others

a lot smaller than itself.

Surprise would be nothing surprising if we only had time for it.

Star's age, star's mass, star's position,

all of that may be enough

for one doctoral thesis

and a modest glass of wine

in the circles close to the sky:

an astronomer, his wife, relatives, and colleages,

a casual ambience, no dress code,

local topics fuel a down-to-earth conversation

and people are munching on terra chips.

A wonderful star,

but that's still no reason

not to drink to the ladies,

incomparably closer.

Star without consequences.

Without influence on weather, fashion, the score of the game,

changes in government, income, or the crisis of values.

With no effort on propoganda or heavy industry.

Without reflection in the finish of the conference table.

An excess number for life's numbered days.

Why need we ask

under how many stars someone is born

and under how many they die a little while later?

A new one.

"At least show me where it is."

"Between the edge of that jagged grayish cloud

and the twig of that locust tree on the left."

"Oh," I say.

- Wislawa Szymborska
11:08:15 AM     comment []