Aged we get to know,
sadly, perhaps, too late,
What life is, the miracle it is,
The lucky we are, the fool we were.
Stardust made of thought,
tremble sounds from the void
casting colours from a voice,
becoming man made of sand.
One new age,
one new day,
one more chance,
to open your eyes.
Once again you can breathe,
once again you can hug,
once again you can taste,
once again you can love.
There is no need for tedious socials,
no need for speeches,
no need for complex rituals,
no need for two faced wishes.
Our time is running,
the clock is ticking,
Your skin is ageing
is it your wisdom growing?
There is no need to cry,
Even if there is much to regret
There is always still time,
Therefore is hope to create.
A walking miracle,
the finest piece of art,
a perfect poetry,
maths, geometry, physics, chemistry.
A heroic irrationality,
A body full of vitality,
the universe has kneel before us,
what else can we ask for?
Dogon called it Dada,
Egyptians called it Neith,
Weavers of the Cosmic Web
This is where we live.
A cycle of cycle,
a wheel within a wheel,
minds of a master mind
so diminutive yet so meaningful.
Children of the void
becoming man from the stars
Stardust made of thought
The universe within us all.
The cosmic web of human thought
synapses, somewhere in there is you,
somewhere in there lays the essence,
The Perfect Poetry
The Ultimate Design
The greatest thing in the smallest place.
Curious the life of a man is
not knowing the power inside
not knowing the miracle of life
looking everything outside
while eternity lies inside.
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