Born to do the bidding,
Of the Earth until it stops.
Born from it to benefit,
The Earth until it stops.
Creatures reflecting features,
Of mysterious deities.
Whether we believe or leave it,
No one breathes without trees.
Born to do the bidding,
Of the Earth until it stops.
Born from it to benefit,
The Earth until it stops.
Complexing are the details.
Some dissect to inspect.
With super duper microscopes,
To zoom in and detect...
How we were created,
And what it was that brought us to life!
As if,
IT will allow it done.
Creatures reflecting features,
Of mysterious deities.
Whether we believe or leave it,
No one breathes without trees.
Or the Sun.
Or the Moon.
Or the rain from clouds that come.
So turbulent this chemical combustion.
Going on,
Until something from it is born.
We are just combustion,
To be born...
From a turbulence like a storm.
Disturbing. Unnerving. Yet effective.
Its been combustion,
From it born,
In a Universe beyond massive.
Its been combustion,
From it born,
The Earth we know exists.
Its been combustion,
From it born,
We accept and start conflicts.
It been combustion,
From it born,
To be until it quits.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely rhythm. Call it what one may, we owe our existence to this amazing combustion. Thank you for sharing your lovely poems.