If gods were as humans imagine,
Would God-hood be just another family profession?

A father teaching his child
about worlds with autumns and springs.
The mother sharing her wisdom—
about how to breathe life into everything.

The eldest steps up, eager to create,
A world complex and grand - to impress his father,
With life as simple and kind – just like his mother.

But the child knows little of cause and its effects,
Of his choices, on which peace and chaos rest.
Standing by and watching, he learns at a cost,
the cost of the hardships his world endures.

The first has grown, his hands lined and creased,
Crafting another world as he pleased.                                                                                            But this time with steady hands and care,
Balancing the sun, the sand, the water and the air.

Then comes the second, hands still soft,
A quiet observer, now given the spot.

 

The old world now, in the hands of the new one                                        

Feels the change in the disposition                                                                                                   And attributes it all the new Sun
 

More children arrive, each with their vision,
Bringing ideas, technology, and ambition.
They tweak, refine, and innovate—
Until their own worlds take shape.

And the two-legged creatures on one of them?
They call it Multiverse.