The Man Who Caught The Light

Born when lightning split the sky in two,
They said I'd be a child of darkness,
But I became the man who caught the light,
And taught it how to dance through copper veins.

Three times I wash these inventor's hands,
Three steps around each building's edge,
The universe speaks in sacred numbers,
Three-six-nine, the key to everything hidden.

Edison, that merchant of direct current,
Could not see what alternated in my dreams—
Power flowing like ocean waves,
Reaching every corner of this turning world.

They call me mad for loving pigeons,
Especially her—my white-winged muse,
She understood my wireless whispers,
When humans failed to grasp my vision.

Pearls make me shudder, round and gleaming,
Like the wealth that always slipped away,
While I fed birds from hotel windows,
And dreamed of towers touching heaven.

I died with empty pockets, empty rooms,
But my alternating current conquered darkness,
Every light switch bears my signature—
The Serbian storm-child who stole fire from gods.