We have always believed in our superiority. We know for sure that nothing can surpass our intelligence and complicated nature. Well, nothing that we know of. What if we met other beings coming from a place we do not fully understand? What if they were smarter? What if there were no point in bragging about our technological advances? What if they needed nothing we can offer? What if they were smarter? Is that even possible? Why are we so arrogant, and why are we waiting for a day like this to come to find out that we are not the best beings in the universe? Well, we don’t need to look forward to that day. Look around and you will find so many beings here on Earth already much better than we will ever be. Look no further. But that doesn’t mean I am not going to tell you about this little poem of mine about that poor little green man that came from Mars, and what we did to him. After all, this is what the whole poem is about. Let’s see what happens to this alien from Mars.
An Alien from Mars
The crowd, the street was full,
all gathered around that green man
like a Christmas Turkey,
they were all ready
to stab with their knives,
and victory to the human race—
survived another alien attack;
others were in books,
this one was real.
I pushed on to get a better view—
police surrounded that poor alien;
each stood brave and true
to keep the peace
and take some rare shots of fame.
What might he look like?
What language does he speak?
Is he a messenger,
or is he a spy?
What promise has he brought?
Why were all so obsessed
to welcome an alien from Mars?
One man asked what they drank,
gave him a Budweiser export discount;
people down from Shell
wanted to send a probe;
the old smiling man of KFC
whose man’s already prepared a franchise contract;
some stood in line to squeeze dry
all the commercial opportunities
before anyone else did.
The poor alien was shocked,
people kept pouring in with offers—
he could not understand,
especially when came forth two men
in black, wired, sun-glassed,
suited like messengers from heaven
delivering messages from hell;
they almost had the poor soul convinced,
his Martian national security was at risk;
they offered him one official contract
to be the exclusive arms suppliers,
and two offers under the table
for an eternal mass conflict effect.
Then came two healers,
two priests from different sects;
they argued whose god was the one,
whose god would bring the aliens to light;
“The blind cannot lead the blind,”
the alien thought in his Martian logic
without even having met the Christ—
the obvious truth was obvious—
even an alien would know that.
The poor Martian alien friend
knew his people needed none of that;
he pretended he did not understand
years has he spent learning our tongue,
He came up with a plan
to save our world;
they saw from there
we were already dying,
yet if he spoke a word,
the virus would spread—
we have been killing people to enlighten them
since the dawn of man.
He knew he could not enlighten us,
we already thought we were the sun;
He stood transfixed unable to speak.
Some men were watching from a distance,
confirmed Martians were stupid,
gave green light to operation Green Death,
and folks from NASA started to prepare
the first conquering mission in space.