A poetic but scientific account, in harmony with religion, of the creation of the universe and its destruction is presented in the form of 1024 rhyming couplets. The creation is described from a point source, and the destruction is based upon the ultimate decay of matter and its building blocks such as neutrons and quarks.

 

Historically there has been an unwritten separation between science and poetry. Scientists seldom write serious poetry in any significant quantity. In a similar way poets rarely write a poetic account of any significant proportions that is based upon a scientific theory.

 

I wanted to lay a new foundation – writing poetry while seriously entertaining scientific theories of our era, and above all doing it in a journey of reverence in complete harmony with religious descriptions. The subject I have chosen is the evolution of Time itself.

 

To make sure that the reader is not lost in verbose descriptions and grandiose words, let me present the first fifty-six lines of this epic poem to simply show; how from a point source the universe is created in harmony with religion. The readers shall thus be able to quickly make up their minds, if they want to proceed any further.

 

From before the beginning and the advent of time

This text is brought about from before there was rhyme

This tale shall sail till after eternity

The words have come down with utmost clarity

 

Time doesn’t exist, He has yet to say “be”

The word is there, and designed for decree

The thought process deep, inspiring, and elated

Nothing else exists, nothing else created

 

There is no beginning there is no end

There is no boundary there is no trend

No reason to measure since nothing is relative

Absolute Him and the only one creative

 

And there are no hours, day or night

There are no revolutions, Sun in sight

The Time is now, hung in plight

An eerie silence in an eternal night

 

There is nothing to shine, no talk of reflection

There is nothing to bend,  no talk of refraction

The light is trapped and it is inside Him

Time is not flowing, dark, and grim

 

No thought of a genealogy, no thought of a friend

Not even the beloved, no message to send

No one to talk to, no tablets, no law

It is mighty Him, the words are in awe

 

He is His argument He is His proof

He is spread all over and yet so aloof

He’s mired in thoughts in self to keep

His presence not felt, silence so deep

 

He is wondering, at the lack of it all

None to spring up and nothing to fall

No one to be loved and no one to be ruled

No one to be scolded and no one to be schooled

 

Near one of those points mighty and absolute

In circuits of pure logic numbers and root

In His absolute world, surviving, safe and sound

He discovers a frame of reference wandering around

 

The cause and the effect is the first of the burr

The first of His principles, the very first pillar

The cause is His power, He merely says “be”

The affect just happens, agree or disagree

 

And so all of the principles by His grace

Causality, Uncertainty, and the like are in place

All is then set for principles to be brought

Into an existence from His mighty thought

 

Hold on to the thought of the Light of Love

Which He created from the principles up above

For this is a story of the character of Time

We will come back to that virtuous and sublime

 

So, with all His might, and a loud harangue

A Point Source of  life, created with a bang

The miracle just happened, as part of the plan

He finally said, “be”, and His experiment ran

 

This is how, we’re sure, the cosmos began

Matter, light, and flow of time in a span

The beginnings of all life, the elements the strand

The universe got started, and continues to expand 

 

 

Please note that any praises of the Almighty and references to metaphysical is not just my belief but also a way of avoiding and making a big deal out of the fact that science by definition is always incomplete.

 

Before proceeding any further, the word Tiambic should be explained. The reader may recall that the iambic poetry of antiquity employing a specific rhythm is well known. As this is the story of Time, I thought that the title Tiambic should be interesting.

 

The story flows through the twentieth century as well, a span near and dear to us. Our century’s history is recorded. The story touches on some real problems as well as achievements. The millennium turnover has sparked many thoughts in all of us. Like others, I too have witnessed and heard from our elders the insatiable appetite of human beings to kill others in uncontrollable wars. Despite economies surpassing trillions of dollars, poverty laughs in our face. Many verses as a check on reality are written. Here we sample just a few lines:

 

 

 

The huts, the slums, the shanty towns, every where abound

Words, grammar, vernacular, and different every sound

This is a cosmos by itself and the stars rather dim

The Sun is blanketed in the dust and the faces very grim

 

The roaming gangs, justice swift, eye for an eye

The needles, very potent, and every one is high

Unreadable, garbled, graffiti on the wall

Illiterate and indecent, still, children almost all

 

Plenty rock, plenty rap, cluttered nonsense trash

Dancing around in a circle, unproductive thrash

Misdirected talent plenty ugly and abhorrent

Maybe a diamond in the rough, beauty not apparent

 

Reading, writing, arithmetic, here, there or none

Sports uncivil in some places and a lot of fun

Physics, math, hard sciences, and rusty every brain

Sharpening this thick dumb skulls futile strain

 

Race, color, and discrimination mantra every day

Fornication, prostitution, the unwed mothers play

The volunteers have disappeared and the politicians gone

The speeches given, the photos taken, news, on and on

 

Knowledge in the chromosomes has already been given

Prophets have long come and gone, ended their mission

Empty slogans, failed churches, it is pronounced now

God is listening just to those who help themselves somehow

 

 

Another aspect of an epic poem is the inclusion of sub-stories within the main story. Imagine that Time is also a character not necessarily human-like in the traditional sense but something that is still mortal. Let us spring ahead at the moment in history when matter in the universe has decayed into energy and the cosmos is more a ball of energy. The forces of nature have conspired to shrink this ball of energy towards its center creating at least the possibility for a repeat of the mathematical singularity from which the universe began in the first place. The new universe may not necessarily have the same dimensions; in fact it may not even be recreated but our character, Time, sees the possibility of collapsing on to itself and like a mortal, facing death. It is at this point that it (Time) begins to remember some of the legends of yesteryears especially when it was young. An interesting legend has been chosen, one where the wisdom of an owl is imparted, as a lesson to a human, referred to the in the history as “King Solomon”.

 

 

It is thinking about its childhood in the middle of that night

It seems a bit hazy, a dream far from sight

When the fountain of life was still very young

When things were so plenty and spring had sprung

 

It is thinking about a great king who living on the Earth

A Prophet when grown up and a gifted child at birth

He was a man chosen by the Almighty to lead not just men

Whose commands were the law and whose prayers, Amen

 

His kingdom was over oceans and also over land

He ruled all the elements, air, fire and sand

He was powerful with fighting power of many a garrison

Sometimes referred to in the literature as King Solomon

 

He was the leader of all there was, even an insect

Trees, caves and rocks could speak to him direct

He was the leader of minds, in the hearts of them all

He was the light of all humanity and standing very tall

 

“Wouldn’t it be nice” they said, “if he lived forever”

So this peace and prosperity shall never end nor whither

That justice will be served in the way he administers

And no one complains, not humans nor animals

 

Some rocks that were listening suddenly spoke up in unison

Saying that a cave beneath them contained just that medicine

A spring full of water and a fountain of youth for him

Was ready to keep him alive, forever strong and slim

 

And these rocks said again that they urge the King to drink

This fountain of youth in their mist, an eternity’s link

My dear King, they pleaded to please go head and decide

The morning shall have no hangover and death will subside

 

But he was a man very wise and he wasn’t in a hurry

Said this gift is indeed very nice but I do have a worry

I must seek now counsel from all of my subjects

The decision be unanimous in all of those aspects

 

And so he called for a meeting, a meeting of the minds

Of all those who could counsel, thoughtful every kind

Included too were those who could fly even at night

Included too were those who had a perfect eyesight

 

So they all said, “what could be better than this?”

Long live our King; go drink from this abyss

But the owl would not speak, deeply perturbed

He pretended as if he didn’t want to be disturbed

 

But the King wasn’t about to let him just go away

And really wanted to hear what the owl had to say

“Speak up thou O owl, it is a matter of life and death.

A disagreement I sense, I’m waiting with a bated breath.”

 

The owl not much of a speaker mustered his beak

And began mumbling like he didn’t like to speak

“O my King it just has to do with the sadness in life.

Life is not fun, if it is always full of sorrow and strife.”

 

“It is true my Custodian that you are powerful

It is true my King that of God you are fearful

It is true my Leader that you are never unjust

It is true my Master there is peace and trust.”

 

“And while you remain young and you remain strong

You remain the King and every one sings your song

But every one around you, becomes old and weak

Your kith and kin, they all grow feeble and meek.”

 

“Eventually they all die and you carrying on

This repeats every year and every one is gone

If you are so strong and can take on this burden

Then live forever by drinking from this fountain.”

 

“My respected King, I have given a different advice

Thou art wiser so do what you please; suffice

Say that I have done my duty and be given permission

To leave your court and return to my life of less sensation.”

 

 

I must now return to a more traditional style, a foreword is written. I realize that after the readers begin to read Tiambic, they will encounter these verses again - my apologies.

 

One might be curious as to why this effort was undertaken. A comprehensive explanation would require additional stories. That depends on how long I shall live. But I would like to mention that the story in shorter form consisting of only 257 rhyming couplets was first written by me in the “Urdu” language, widely spoken in Pakistan and Northern India. It has just now also been written in the “Hindi” script. The message has thus been written in two languages, one eastern and one western. There is also talk of translating it in other languages. But that is left for others and has to do with money.

 

I want to thank my son Kashif Ali, twenty-one years old, for having read this and in giving his approval as fit for younger generation.  I would also like to thank my wife Fozia for it was in “her time” of more than two years that it took me to complete the product in both languages.