In the small constellation which is called
Telescopium, a Latinized form
of the Greek for telescope is the sprawled
spiral galaxy in its astral swarm.
Stippled with stars in the image we see
that hover about the firmament view
the Hubble has given us cordially
our own special gaze in this rendezvous
at the grand I C 4 7 O 9
amid its swirling disks sidereal
within the faraway cosmic confine
high in celestial skies ethereal.
It's two hundred forty million light-years
away from our planet petite of earth,
of the hopes and fears, of laughter and tears,
where we mortals are living present mirth.
Surrounding the whole is a halo faint
with dusty bands by artistry captured
as if an acrylic master of paint
had become by starry sights enraptured
and created a masterpiece in space
one of myriad exhibited there
amongst the empyreal spheres of grace
as visioned from our earthly haven rare.
‘Tis said a gargantuan black hole dwells
within this galactic spiral as ‘guest',
if such word could conjure up parallels
to the crashing gas that is manifest.
Within those environs it gets so hot
electromagnetic quantities great
radiation, infrared on, are shot,
per the spectrum of its emission fate.
It is sixty-five million times the mass
of our Sun- one can barely fathom that-
which makes the great luminance come to pass
in apparently hellish habitat.
As we cast our eyes at the vast expanse
or give to the cosmos more than a glance
one wonders in awe at the happenstance
that brought to existence our human dance.
Aye seemingly seldom does life appear
within what we've seen of the ceaseless sweep
so let us yet strive our lives to revere
before we fall into that deepest sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem