Once, I Offered Myself to the Stars

A poem series.

Mirra Esmael
Rainbow Salad
2 min readNov 24, 2023

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Photo by Baraa Jalahej on Unsplash

I scooped up scraps of me
Ugly edges, opened cracks
Faults, flaws, and ruins
But they slip eagerly between the hands
How unfair it was! How unjust!
When I finally solicited bravery
The fingers have gone tired, they trembled,
Unable to carry all the thunders I rolled
Beneath the corners of my flesh and bones
Still, I gathered these and held them tight
I took it on a ride to the depths of the night.

dogs howling
lamppost flickering
air sweeping
people
dust
and leaves
on empty streets
echoing
mechanical
squeak, whirr;
a staccato.

I toss myself under the watchful skies
Abandoned and stripped my mind
But the moon has fallen asleep
How unfair it was! How unjust!
When I finally solicited bravery
It has grown tired of people's tears,
It got bored of people's whims,
So I asked, instead, the stars
Pleaded them to accept, to hide,
All the sins, chunks, and scars —
To string constellations with tonight.

trees slouching
walls whispering
air thickening
melting dew
light
and soil
on silent streets
echoing
mechanical
thrum, whirr;
a staccato.

Distant, diamond eyes pierce me
Like mirrors, doubting, suspicious
Questioning the unshapely fragments
I dragged and hid in my shadows
So I took the tail of a wandering star,
Scraped down the worst parts,
And offered them up above
But they don’t weave constellations anymore
How unfair it was. How unjust!
When I finally solicited bravery
The stars have grown tired of waiting,
And I am left with my rubbles, begging.

One star took pity,
And so it called and asked me:

"What do you think makes me shine?
Is it air, space, or time?
Is it me who created this light?
Or is it the darkness where I lie?
What do you think makes me twinkle?
My light that hesitated to travel?
The black spaces that ate my sparkle?
Or your eyes, which failed to discover,
All these fragments creating my flare?”

eyes drooping,
earth snoring,
air blowing,
bursting colors
shapes
and skins
on lonely streets
echoing
mechanical
hum, whirr,
slowing down,
singular sound;
a staccato.

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Mirra Esmael
Rainbow Salad

I’m a storyteller who is passionate about words, books, sunset, vintage, and coffees, here to transform her messy thoughts into decent art.