O! Immortal Mother, Salutations to Thee,
Offering these poems, O! Knowledge Tree,
Invoking Thy grace infinite an’ unconditional,
To fulfill this dreamy existence, an’ be immortal.
The modern man groping in dreary darkness,
Whose senses an’ mind deluded, lo! Hopeless,
Calls this illusory world, ‘real’, an’ enjoyable,
Only to perish like a moth in fire, so miserable.
Even so, the confounded modern mathematician,
With no spiritual background searches th’ unreal,
Thinking it to be real, a merely deluded human,
In the jungle of numbers, calling them ‘real’.
The polynomial equations whose roots are negative,
Find their extremely intricate nature hidden in waves,
The nature of which is unresolved, being so fugitive,
They remained intricate as imaginary or complex numbers.
O! Ma, Ocean of Mercy, whose knowledge irrefutable,
It’s by Thy Grace that these numbers were precisely explored,
Whose properties are definitive and so computable,
Whose beauty brings endless smiles to the confounded.