Fifty-fifty is the probability
That the cat or even we exist,
After the atom splits;
Whether the cyanide gas turns us blue or sets up a clue
Not to open the box
And observe a cat
That is not there.
There is always the chance
(However small)
That we repeat the experiment,
Once, twice or infinitely,
Ourselves throwing the dice;
And live on forever after,
Opening an empty box,
And patting lively kitty on her head.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
If we do not look, there are no events just probabilities changing......on the other hand those decaying particles are surely the demise of poor Schrodengers cat whether we look or not. Interesting, mind bending write.