I often found myself gazing at Orion constellation,  mumbled “There he is, the great hunter,”  you must be trustworthy, holds the story of million years And I will follow my finger  traced the big bear in the northern hemisphere,  “Don’t you miss your minor, Sir Ursa Major?” Or if I am lucky enough,  I can see our little barred spiral Milky Way galaxy among other galaxies,  hundred light-years across Ah, what about the shooting star?  I know… it is just a glimpse of stardust,  one miles away across my dirty lenses And at times our eyes whirred comet-like  Tracing its way to the wise constellations,  like the entire atmosphere of Venus blows across the face of the planet in 4…