Will humans colonize Mars?
Probably, yes,
because we are the only species
that looks at a freezing red desert
with no breathable air
and says,
“Could use a conservatory.”
We will arrive with flags, drills,
seed trays, solar panels,
and the ancient human habit
of calling danger “opportunity”
once it has a funding proposal.
There will be no open windows,
no rain gossiping on rooftops,
no trees practicing patience
outside the kitchen.
Only domes, tunnels, pressure seals,
and the soft panic
of a cracked pipe at breakfast.
Children may learn
that “outside” means a suit,
a checklist,
and seventeen warnings
before anyone opens a door.
Gardens will grow under lamps,
lettuce treated like royalty,
tomatoes praised as miracles,
basil whispered over
like a saint with leaves.
Water will be counted,
air will be managed,
waste will be forgiven
and recycled into tomorrow.
Birthdays will be celebrated
with freeze-dried cake,
three candles if oxygen allows,
and someone’s grandparent on Earth
flickering across a screen
with a delay long enough
to make love feel cosmic.
And perhaps that is the real question,
not whether we can live there,
but what we will become
when the sky is always sealed away.
Will we grow kinder
because survival has no room
for casual cruelty?
Will we miss the sea
with a grief so ordinary
it becomes a religion?
Will we finally understand Earth
only after leaving her,
like children who only praise home
from the far end of a long road?
Mars will not be a second chance
unless we become second-chance people.
For if we carry only our hunger,
our flags,
our profitable little storms,
then Mars will simply be Earth’s argument
painted red.
But if we carry wonder,
restraint,
and the humility
to kneel before a lettuce leaf,
then perhaps, one day,
beneath a dome of borrowed light,
someone will write in a diary:
Today the radishes came through.
Today the air held.
Today we remembered
that to colonize a planet
is easier
than learning how to belong
to one.😳
Leave a Reply