The truce

We war fiercely over it
Swords of ink, shields of magazines
If it is mere random machine
Or the ‘Creation’, that fits
In the great scheme of things we call existence

But can we agree a truce?
A pause, to light a campfire
at the boundary of our Empires
of Philosophy and Proof,
Gazing the Cosmos. Awe at its exuberance!

We share the same cosmic map
We share the findings all over
And we share our tools. Then, perhaps,
We could also share our wonder
With minds bigger then their jobs for instance

Dancing ideas, not sweepers
Applying Chemistry, not chemicals
Being just children, not academicals
Turning us into brain feeders
Of those who rejoice on inteligence

Skies are vast, revealing fields.
Fields are poor veils to more skies:
New World, Indias, new countrysides
To be conquered. To be unveiled
Pushing the bondaries of our ignorance

We love the conversation
Of our observatories and pen
And marvel before the Expansion
But our tools need to be sharpened
To observe God. There is so much evidence!

So I must end our truce now
Because I’m not okay with
People always going around
Thinking, behaving as if
They know everything in their arrogance

I shall take that sword of ink
Yes! And stand up on my knees!
For one day our lives will shrink
And this Map, from above, we’ll see:
Cosmos is but a speck in His Presence