Inside a transatlantic plane,
flying towards the western lands
some thoughts arose with in my brain
of human quests and hidden hands.

The humankind has civilised
all earthly corners with his mind.
The air I breathe is pressurised,
the path I chase was predesigned.

Walking in town along the streets,
which crooked climb towards the hills,
I wished my feet were naval fleets
with sails as soft as daffodils.

But dreams must be more cum ber some:
To win the race against microbes,
save pangean loops that will succumb
with fuels to fuel new redox globes.

Glory be to God, the pioneers,
and all the genetic engineers.