And verily man has often asked for miracles,
from holy men to God himself.
"We believe what we see but nothing else!”
But they cannot see, for they are blinded.
That the light of truth does not bother them.
And if they try opening their eyes,
the intensity of it would shut, their eyes right back.
Look around you.
Look at this breathing alive earth. Its forest and gigantic oceans.
It’s womb in eternal motion.
It's very fabric embodied with life atom to atom.
Look at the sky; look at its colour, the birds chirruping,
the waters reflecting back.
Observe the jewels in the far cosmos beyond,
Their prefixed path of direction and course of events.
Look at the mountains, the pan of land beneath your feet.
Do you not see the difference between a “chance” and “created”?
Just look, look again and ponder
that you "look" and that you "see".
See your hands,
the lines before you were awake.
Feel the rising of your chests in succession,
the blood pulsating in your veins or arteries.
The pumping of heart in labour yet you’re profoundly oblivious,
engrossed in the present.
And you say: "Where is the proof?"
It is right there, but you see not.