THE MATHEMATICAL ANTS

THE MATHEMATICAL ANTS

Tumult of earth,

small particles
moving
over one another,
until they form
an underground architecture.

Ants.

Tiny bodies
dragging fragments,
buried in matter,
opening paths
toward a depth
that seems never to end.

Angles.

Exact inclinations
under the pressure of earth,
lines converging
along the same direction,
as if every movement
answered
to an invisible formula.

Parabolas.

Curves buried
in the darkness,
descending
to their vertices,

points of maximum pressure,
of maximum convergence,
where matter
compresses
without disappearing.

And the wind.

Breaking
over the surface,
shifting particles,
distorting the shapes,
trying to fracture
the small dimension
stretching
beneath our feet.

But the walls
remain.

The angle remains.

The curve remains.

And something keeps growing
beneath the earth.

A succession of tunnels,
of chambers,
of forms multiplying
in an almost
organic expansion.

Geometry upon geometry.

One dimension
inside another.

The earth folding
in on itself
until it conceals
an entire world.

And the ants,

immersed
in that depth,

keep moving
matter,

particle by particle,

as if they knew
the exact shape
of the universe
before the universe
revealed it.

As if beneath everything,

before chaos,
before movement,
before us,

there was already
an angle.



Poetry by Brenda
Written on 2026-08-23 at 04:01

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text