Once I cut a lens, a magnifying glass to see,

The threads of time and what is yet to be.

With its power, I gazed deep into my hands,

I saw the past, tomorrow, and all my life’s strands.

I found with my lens, a lone hidden cell,

Its image was young, yet aged just as well.

It was so small, with a nucleus deep inside.

All the genes and more, where life does abide.

The cell looked tired, with its heart grown sore,

He knew he existed, but he didn’t know more.

Around the cell, a membrane, so fragile, so thin,

Aligned in perfection, it acted like a skin.

I studied that cell, that longing to be found, 

Told me all there is, without making a sound.

 I got so focused and wakeful in my sight,

I saw the secrets and puzzlements of my plight.

When I focused more, I beheld its seeds,

All the seeds were spinning, with their fate decreed.

The seed, in the books, they were called “atom”,

the truth of all matter, but we could not fathom.

Round around the atom, electrons were so bright.

 Circled like the Earth, around the Sun in flight.

I peered at them, small, but yet fast.

Within one I saw, hills and valleys so vast.

There I saw flowers, and a proud cypress tree,

the butterflies were roaming, in meadows, all in glee.

All I saw were lovers, harvesting, love like flame.

The flame was eternal, that no water could tame.

I saw there in a shade, a man aged but wise,

also making a lens, a lens to improve his eyes.

He was also looking, looking at his hand;

To find a proof of being, the place he should stand.

He spoke of the maker, the god, and his creed,

the moonlights and the Venus, and Earth’s mighty speed.

The maker became a creator the instant he creates.

The moment becomes eternal, and all doubt abates.

You and I are creators of the creation that lies within.

The kings of all realms, and the Gods deep in skin.

We dwell on a particle, the particle’s name is Earth,

The only home and garden, we’ve been given since birth.

The Earth revolves the sun; the sun is mighty big.

Our planet is just a speck, like a cosmic little twig.

I think I am a creation, a creation the maker designed,

Who sees me drifting, with his purpose undefined

He has also been created, a creation of the same.

A mirror held to a mirror, reflecting a single name.