In the beginning there was a great void, and a darkness as black as pitch.
Silence prevailed.
As yet nothing moved.
Starmaker looked upon it and it was well.
One place is as good as another and Starmaker approved.
Time started up with a lurch, and plodded forwards.
Matter began to swirl.
Heat began to radiate and mass began to coalesce.
Fields of energy began to flow.
And a star began to grow.
Space bent, and time was deformed.
Lo and behold, a new star was born.
First it was one, and then another.
Swirling nodes of matter in space.
And nowhere is down, nowhere is sideways, no place is above.
The glowing clouds, the creation of a race.
Velocity, momentum, electrical force.
Vectors, and gravity, and magnetism, of course.
Air, and water, sunlight and topsoil, and love…
And forgiveness, and children, and mothers and dads.
A world with spiders, and walruses, and lions and doves.
A place with grass, and trees, and mud and rain.
A place so special, a place so unique, could never be created again.
Starmaker moves on, the labour of continuous creation never done.
Note:
A French-language version of the poem appears at
'Les Shalako.'
