Are you a lonely falling star,
Zipping aimlessly through space?
Or a castaway, from a planet far,
Longing for a familiar face?

Are you an unidentified puff of blah;
Or a shiny cosmic pathogen?
A giant hazy nebula;
Or a teensy Protozoan?

Hear ye as I call,
Hailing all known spatial freqs;
Spacecasting Live for all,
Aboard The ISS Poetrix.


This is space-poet Spike,
On his weekly open mic.


There’s nothing but emptiness and dots,
As far as my eyes can see;
So I plan to fill them up with thoughts,
Far beyond many a-galaxy.

Time and space are obscure;
Cause what is mine, isn’t yours.
My words shall transcend them for sure,
Defying reasons, logic, they shall soar.

There’s poetry in how our lives traverse;
Beneath the obvious, something stirs.
It’s really just one big poem, we converse,
Perhaps that’s why we call it The Uni-verse.


This is space-poet Spike
On his weekly open mic.


Now, the show today is dedicated,
To war-torn unknowns,
The luckless and the ill-fated;
The saddened and forlorn.

I don’t have a permanent cure;
Nor I promise to allay your pain.
But I’ll give you few smiles for sure,
And pray that laughter rains.

I will keep sending over
Words of greatness and power,
Deep into the darkness, forever;
So that some day, on you they shall shower!


This is space-poet Spike
On his weekly open mic.

———————————————————————————————-

“Say, I’ve to admit that his rhymes are getting pretty decent!”.

“Hahaha yeah! I agree! I have heard him so many times, that I believe that I too have got a hang of it. Let me try …”


“There goes Spikey, spacin’ out again,
Jumping and rolling all over his beds.
But soon it’ll end, his trips insane;
Cause now it’s time, for his daily meds!”


“Ahahahaha….”