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I. The Aether’s Burial
We are the hollow men, the charged men,
Leaning together, electron-shelled, whispering—
Frequencies, vibrations, the silent hum
Of the field that cradles us. This is the way the world ends:
Not with a particle, but with a wave.
O dark, dark, dark, beneath the unseen rays,
The unseen hand that writes the cosmos’ name
In ultraviolet, infrared, the void’s white noise—
The spectrum stretches out, a bridge of fire,
And we are but the echoes of its choir.
II. What the Thunder Said
Then spoke the thunder, in the language of light:
Datta: We have given you the photon’s gift,
The spark that dances in the synapse cleft.
Dayadhvam: We have opened every field,
The iron in your blood, the star’s last yield.
Damyata: The current hums, the signal bends—
O you who turn the dial, who split the bands,
The waves obey. The waves obey.
III. Death by Wireless
A woman draws her shawl against the glow
Of screens that flicker, whispering her name
In pulses, in the cipher of the air.
O City, City, drowned in radiant tides,
Where every thought is broadcast, every prayer
A silent oscillation, lost between
The towers and the satellites, between
The signal and the noise.
IV. The Fire Sermon
Burn, burn, burn, O spectral fire,
From gamma knives to radio choirs,
You are the wound and you the balm,
The static hiss, the vesper psalm.
The chemist bends above his flame,
The monk intones his sacred name,
The lover’s touch, the neuron’s spark—
All, all are currents in the dark.
V. What the Vacuum Said
After the torchlight, after the burst,
After the circuits cool to dust,
The zero-point still hums, still sings—
Not with a bang, but with a ring.
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