The scientific God told me the origin
Of the universe one morning when gloom
Hung upon the hills. I was the only one in the room.
The scientists were on a holiday
In Bengal. The scientific God had sent them away.
The scientific God was industrious
And knew how industry could aim
Aiming devices at the moon. No amount of fuss
Could fool me behind my back. My name
Was similar-sounding, no matter what tongue
Pronounced it. The scientific God was young,
Young beyond reckoning, in fact.
The secret he told me came from the future,
Where everything is dim and flying apart
To return. An instantaneous rupture
Made its point, overcoming contradiction
In the brain, an excited, momentary, heart.
The scientists were tortured by the odd,
Which was odd inside the odd.
God’s voice in my head gave me chills.
“Faith” and “infinity” are but words.
I listened to the scientific God,
Sinking into contemplation,
As the gloom increased among the hills.