Our science is an abstract cold and brief
That cuts in formulas the living whole.
It has a brain and head but not a soul:
It sees all things in outward carved relief.
But how without its depths can the world be known?
The visible has its roots in the unseen
And each invisible hides what it can mean
In a yet deeper invisible, unshown.
The objects that you probe are not their form.
Each is a mass of forces thrown in shape.
The forces caught, their inner lines escape
In a fathomless consciousness beyond mind's norm.
Probe it and you shall meet a Being still
Infinite, nameless, mute, unknowable.
Reference: # 72 in "Les poèmes de Sri
Aurobindo" (bilingual edition)
also in "More poems" - 76
and "Collected Poems" - 168
all published by Sri
Aurobindo Ashram - Pondicherry
diffusion by SABDA