THE DAWNING OF THE UNIVERSE

And when a man sins a little and falls into sin:

 He gurgles chocolates down

 his throat with improper methods,

 He gives final honour to one-man

 cakes to passions as lofty

 and sublime as being in love!

 To become one: with the immortal

 and yet metaphorically changing

 dough body of flour, water and eggs,

 with its delicious, bohemian pairings, 

it is possible to create rebirth.

 - One can sense and feel that

 the subtle, superstitious details

 do not yet create 

- only through hard work

 A morsel of only tastes,

 smells, and thoughts

 - a redemptive noble task:

 to rename men into unity,

 into a common wavelength,

 if it is still possible! 

In the furnace's bosom-bowls of plenty,

 In the flame-caves' naked beds,

 Millions have been born by the flame: 

Diligent re-doers, may yet recreate

 The dough made by man's hand.

 How many wonders, strange and uplifting,

 And how many more

 may the deserved fruit

 of our patience,

 Waiting for harmony, unfurl? 

And how the dough's shape fills out and swells:

 it resembles a blessed maternity,

 while its waistline grows in a curved curve,

 and it tans as if the sun were caressing it.

 See, there will be plenty of good,

 and all that is hatched will be gently,

 with motherly tact, brought out,

 taking care not to crack a single particle, 

and clothed in a heavenly robe

 of sifting powdered sugar,

 which waves like snow,

 and sweetens as the more

 tiny pearl-balls the dust sprinkles!

 - We wait with anxious

 stomachs still growling.

 In the attic of our mouths

 the charms have meanwhile

 taken hold, and the roasted bride 

has been served straight to our table!