No sovereign inventor required to awaken
A chosen world's fire bound within
And unleash stowed magical benefit
Stirred by echoes of past life?
That the selected spark may begin
Depends upon the providence of random?
And not the discerning design
Of a master of the Nothingness?
By chance not intent these stars do spin
Chauffeured by accident and not a driver?
Through space-time spanned no end to end
All things lack a soul contriver?
Yet like the homing pigeons freed
Suspicions seek the source of gifted wings
A quest toward that first ignite
Our dreams advance before the flight
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem