Efficiency

The world could be a better place

If we worked all but as one;

For to those tackles on every's way

None would have lost, all could have won.

Some have the knowledge, some the skills,

Some have the patience and will to succeed;

Some have the money, some the power,

Some the time, some the speed.

Yonderhere

I close my eyes and think of thee,

By my side and all smiles;

I smell thy scent and feel thy touch,

From a hundred and a thousand miles!

I dream of thee day in day out,

And hear whispers into my ear:

"Don't feel lonesome, feel no doubt,

I am with thee and I am here."

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.

The price of life

Life, the ultimate frontier,

The only one thing 

We don't mind  to bear;

The one thing we owe, 

Ourness, all kind,

The one in every mind.

Day in, day out,

The end of which we fear,

Future, now and past

The one we revere.

Ephemeral but unique

Bitter-sweet and sour,

That some like, some dislike

Some savour, some devour!

'Tis all but life the means

'Tis all but life the end,

What else is for to live

What else is there to mend?

Every good thing comes scarce

And life is the scarcest beast,

Of all those things you took 'granted 

Cross life off your list!

Tru^{th}

What is this world but fake,

Who lives it for truth sake?

An end in self or just a means,

What is this truth we revere;

Is it the idea or just the form

We cater to and so much dare

To deem  it real for all that be,

Or t'is a thought worth the care?