The Universe, we are told, is really simple,
though quite old.
But Man's beliefs, I still propound,
disguise the void we all surround.
Foolish Man, with his labelling mind,
everything pigeon holed, defined
neatly packaged, stored away
for reference at a later date
Being, history, time itself
classified on some cobwebbed shelf
The scientist has one defence
the pursuance of 'Pancognizance'
No surprises left us now
as wonderment is not high brow
adore the mystery I cry
they may solve the 'HOW' but not the 'WHY'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem