O Dad (and son), do we remember the oldness of our existence?: A poem 

O Dad (and son) like an inter-planetary missive 

like a voice from a jukebox, the obsolete telephone rings 

as if to communicate a mute testimony in existence – 

the epistolary contained in every digit of the universe! 

Though religion had deigned to excommunicate us; or set us apart 

We lived in our trials and tribulations like an eternity that survives 

Not flustered or beaten by the oceans that sought to drown us 

But that drowned themselves in their own frustration to convict us 

How we don’t even remember our own ages? 

Like time doesn’t recollect the surf it left on the shores 

But there are permanent marks on its womb’s hide 

All outdated things coming back in new forms 

Even beasts that were once considered extinct 

I am more than a wormhole to every spacetime quark 

that gathers mass to bequeath you, as you bequeath me 

A legacy that devolves around the wars we fought 

How old is that? Even as we came from other worlds 

And formed the souls of these planets 

We are no elementary Gods of gods, we are not split wide open 

by rudimentary unfounded beliefs that seem to prevail.  

But we are solidified in our convictions 

The solidarity of the quantum reality that lies in spirit 

that dodges an overwhelming reality of gravity 

Even gravity can only beget us the true nature of originality  

Never in the behavioural blackbox they tried to put us in 

Our motivation is in the solidarity of timelessness  

and its pricelessness. Now they are realising that inherence  

is not just exemplified by ambitions of material achievement 

And humanity is not just the lust of greed. We shaped  

the fortresses that stood against historic lies 

As if they would, once demolished, never rise again 

O Dad (and son) would we know our actual ages, if we stood all the tests of time?!