A poet cannot not be in awe of science...he would love to gaze into the telescope to take his physical sight farthest possible to find proof of the things he has already perceived but cannot catch to show or define.

where do the thoughts go sometimes? lost within my head like a bolt of light illuminating my darkest corners and before it loses is beauty by getting confined to paper, vanishes. I write about the shadow of the real same way the vedas describe the manifested world - a shadow of the real world. The real is so fleeting yet so static. and me?

Tears hamper the vision? or they distort objects accurately. Bringing them to somewhere in balance not negating their presence or blocking them off completely as they do not exist.