What’s behind this preoccupation with UFOs,
this anticipation of ferocious foes?
Aren’t the contorted, alien forms
with ugly horns
a reflection of your own distorted souls?
You project your own mania for wars
your abductions of slaves, infants and thrones,
your inhuman experiments on animals and clones
on extraterrestrial norms.
What if our eyes are radiant beams
that covet not, nor evil breathe.
What if our utterance is no form of speech,
no deceptive words, no pompous screech
but euphonious sounds to celestial ears
that your bards had called the music of the spheres.
What if each smile mirrors a star.
What if each handshake is a love-born vow.
What if we fly on aurora’s brow,
arching above your animus and spite!