Não é poema, mas podia.
Look
again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you
love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever
was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands
of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and
forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization,
every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father,
hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt
politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader,"
every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of
dust suspended in a sunbeam.
The
Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless
cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the
scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their
misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their
hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and
emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters
of a fraction of a dot.
Carl Sagan