Science says poetry is dead

Is a slave to Poetry

Being solely dedicated
To understanding
Mapping and rationalising

And hypothesising on
The poetry of the physical world
The chemical, the biological world

The swing of a pendulum
The trajectory of a missile
The whirr of a motor and the hiss of an acid
And sodium ethanol iso-methyl

Science may speak
In pentameter
To the tick of a metronome

Or compose in free verse
An ode to the flight of a bird
And every species of
Non venomous diamond rattlesnakes
The power of quinine
And eradicating hunger
By tinkering with the genes
Of a grain of rice

The balance of an electron’s orbit
And the boundaries of outer space
The shape of a hole in the atmosphere
Or the shock absorber springs
Of a smoke choking automobile

Every law of motion
That dropped an apple on Newton’s head
And buoyancy in a bathtub
That stripped Archimedes of sense
Is poetic justice
To life on earth, in society
As it unfolds in verse

And, after all
Science never says
It Proves

And therefore,
Unless to self negate
It cannot be said
That Poetry is


Harshita Yalamarty