by Badri Raina
Goes way back into some initial sea.
After all, the greater the heat we generate,
The colder Nature must reciprocate
To keep the world somewhat temperate.
O Picco de la Mirandola, how you
Held forth on the dignity of man
After dark centuries of admonition to remain
As still as we can.
Through some six or seven hundred years of doing
We have managed to overthrow
As many chains of being as kept us below
Our manifest destiny of ruling the universe
For better and better, never for the worse.
Tell us, then, why it is that we have made
Of things veritable gods, but reduced human beings
To mechanical, unfeeling, uncaring sods,
The more helpless the more puissant we seem,
Like a horribly distorted swagger of a dream.
Is it still open to the icicle in the beard
To freeze us into a self-rebuke that may redeem?