Who Designed It?

“What kind of idea are you? Are you the kind that compromises, does deals, accomodates itself to society, aims to find a niche, to survive; or are you the cussed, bloody-minded, ramrod-backed type of damnfool notion that would rather break than sway with the breeze? – The kind that will almost certainly, ninety-nine times out of hundred, be smashed to bits; but, the hundredth time, will change the world.”
― Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses

Does really,
really this world conspires
against all your gut
against all that you hold dear

may be
sometimes

who designed it ?
where it came from ?
was it designed that way ?
or it became over the time
to coerce all in to
patterns and standards
from where it came?
all the diktats
all the rules and rates

can we really forget
what is dear to us
follow another being's path?
or we make a niche.
 
 

Mechanical Overdose

The machine has got to be accepted, but it is probably better to accept it rather as one accepts a drug - that is, grudgingly and suspiciously. Like a drug, the machine is useful, dangerous and habit-forming. The oftener one surrenders to it the tighter its grip becomes.
― George Orwell, The Road to Wigan Pier

Life, so mechanical to me it seems

Pressing buttons and sliding screens

Eyes locked as seldom they stop

Moving parts so fewer we got

What to hide and what to voice?

Day after day nothing more

Addled by abundance in store

Void all around, what’s not to fill?

Nowhere to go with little skills

Man needs love is all that is

Machines knows no love

Peace is never on

On luminous screens

Heart full of wander

Shouldn't be stilled for long

Romance is lived

It isn't reflected on

Rusting lives away

Stop, hold on

Incomprehensible machine man is

Is mechanical life at all humane?