Dedicated to all who deal with DNA in their daily life
We cannot resist our DNA,
Or issue hartal, how every plank of wood,
In a hull, is made of lignin, hardwood.
What only a single organism, the white rot fungus, can degrade.
How we are humble catamarans, journeying past infinite spaces,
That capture us, some in ocular clarity,
And others, in utter blindness,
When we search for the port of calling, while we moor,
Throwing out a rope, dropping a behemoth anchor,
One’s individual identity, what can hold one at a harbor,
The weight of knowing who we are,
And where we fit in our many constellations,
Kith, kin, neighborhood and society.
The star power, we chase perhaps blindly,
And the heartwood, that burns beneath, as we journey,
Through conservation corridors, inside jumbo jets,
Migrating to the first world, and then, coming back home.
The GPS that you threw to the ripples of the ocean,
Knowing the best thing about life,
Is gut feeling, the umpteenth senses, that
Are not defined by the tangible anatomies,
Climbing out of your brain-wrapped skull.
How we are conquistadors, the sails,
Our hearts are; a mast on top, that burns,
The electricity of extant dreams,
Those fires lit by saintly Elmo.
A model of DNA; how curvaceous,
The blueprint, of our inheritance,
Sculpting a wandering caveman, and still,
A member of Homo sapiens, wise enough
To know that the grail of life, matters.
Strands of DNA driving us, similar to that,
What Watson and Creek unveiled,
Back in 1953, while an idiom held true,
“There is a woman behind every man”
Beautiful Rosalind, holding a picture,
Worth 1000s of nucleotides.
Curves more endearing than legendary Cleopatra,
Or beautiful Aishwarya Rai,
Even voluptuous Monica Bellucci,
A woman, with major love handles,
And minor breasts, who is mutable to age,
Wearing a ring made of pentagonal sugar;
Who is given multiple “O”s,
Blissed every time she is transcribed,
From hereditary DNA to messenger RNA;
Consummation of a buxom maiden,
To a runaway bride.