Birds of a feather

Is it nature's uncanny call,

Or is it just a tribal thing,

Flocking all together

Are birds of a wing?

I find it hard for me to think

Nature makes a tribal call,

Bearing all birds as it could

Nature can nurture'em all.

The blind lawmaker

As if the cosmos besought us all,

In a feverish desperate call,

To make a story in its name,

Of how it fares and how it came,

Man scrambles across the globe-

Without proof or probe-

To make up a devine king,

Hiding deep in the dark,

That sets forth space and laws

Timed on his mark!

Angry self

An angry self soaked in blood,

Encaged in a potential well,

Boiling, overflowing like flood:

Reminiscent of a man-made hell.

An angry self of that I am,

Drowning in the high seas,

Bereft of my will to mind

Enslaved by idiosyncrasies;

Of those that matter 

And of those that don't,

Nonetheless in harmful wont!

An angry self, live but dead

Inside my thinking head,

Crying out for air of will

To stretch beyond the hill.

An angry self beyond repair,

But crying out for a rebirth,

For freedom to think and say

Beyond the depth and  girth,

Of a society in  decay.