We are the lens through which it sees, The stardust shaped by histories.

Across the chalky, dust-strewn stone, The glass-spun watchers stand alone. Transparent bones of clear design, Aligned beneath a grand design. They lift their gaze to cosmic deeps, Where thought unspools and never sleeps— A stellar mind of fire and lace, That births the galaxies of space. From neural spark to planetary ring, The silent chorus starts to sing: We are the lens through which it sees, The stardust shaped by histories.