Before and before the torch of creature,
The void occupied the space beyond measure.
Darkness was not the only existing being.
There were also gods, and silvery, slippery droplets of nothing.
Time was not flowing,
Because universe was not moving.
Gods kept time to themselves,
Leaving the rest of the universe in an enduring pause.
With all the flow of time so that they can age and die,
They have made purpose out of life,
And there was a "lake," the spherical edgeless lake,
No one knows if that is a fake.
The silvery liquid, ether, fill the space,
Nothing in this watery stuff, except for peace,
Spirits, ideas, merely threads of thoughts
Nothing, nothing, emptiness in the emotionless voids
Weightless, intangible dead abstraction
Eternal darkness, content in everlasting satisfaction
This is the way the universe wants it
Forever and ever without being perturbed

There was no subjects except for "I,"
To the nothingness of this mechanics, I shall not comply.
There was I, dancing in the void,
Forever joyless, forever blind,
No craving for sight,
Since there was no light.
Thrusting my hand into this silvery pond, like a mirror,
Disrupting the face of the universe to its horror.
Suddenly, there was motion in the lake,
And the stream of time got split.
The ripples have gone further and further,
Eventually the waves meet at the place where they terminate each other.
And then all of a sudden, its flow of time dried already,
The lake was a watery sphere, calm and steady,
Lurking inside its calmness, are all the soul and spirits it devours,
Bathed in chaos and fury in the frozen gravitational abyss.
Frustrated and furious, I jumped into the lake
Hoping to disturb the mechanics of universe for my own sake

And then things changed forever since that moment of blink,
The spirits and abstractions inside the lake went berserk,
The splatter erased the distinction between the lake and its surroundings,
Ripples, energy of physics, relativity mixed in violence.
The ripples cavorted and bounced off each other,
Reshaping and assimilating one another,
Making them more similar to themselves,
Yet simultaneously generating differences.
And in the beginning of the end
Time escaped from the hand of god
It flows into the palm of universe
Thawing the motion embroiled in the time-frozen ice
Then, in the end of the beginning,
Furious, but frozen-in-time, Gods sat by their window watching
The collapse of their guileful grace,
And the flow, material brought by the Renaissance