Tuesday, June 28, 2005


He will come tomorrow, the Alien
Who has the key to all our ills, the clue
To all our jigsaw puzzles and problems
In one stroke he will solve all our mysteries.

Why are we born in different skins
Why do we speak in different tongues
Why we sing and dance in divergent ways
Or what makes us write in many fashions.

He has the formula for words and things
He has the link for art and aesthesis
He will tell us the master-recipe
And bring with him the sure remedy.

Why do we worship disparate icons
Why do we believe in philosophies
What makes us fall for rival theories
Or why do we love to kill each other.

All computing are on his finger-tips
All the worlds show up upon his thumb-nails
No gadgets he needs for tele-talking
His palm is the archive for all texts.

Pathetic calculations of our maths
Thanks to him will be laid to rest for good
The tortuous aparatus of labs
Will mercifully be things of the past.

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