Lor’ O my Great Lor’,
See how the technological trinkets galore;
Isn't man striding too fast
And tampering with the Machinery of Your?
Bomb, pollution, automated loneliness:
Doomsayers abound in range;
Aah! But even Death now to man seems,
A mere molecular change.
When an apple fell and
Exultantly gave the theory of Gravitation,
He but answered why the apple fell;
Did he ever bother who the One,
Was that made the fall, Who the Hell?
The Chaotic Boundary Principle defies God;
Stronger version of Anthropic Principle even more so—
God is still groping to find an abode in the T.O.E.,
Why is it that we think better we know?
By thinking we have all the answers,
We are nothing but chasing a mirage;
Only He is the supreme mentor,
The supreme scientist, the supreme sage.
That all I have said, a warning. Upon it
Give your mind some exercise,
Leave a little space for God,
For God does not play dice.
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