Nature sees what nature sees,
And nature does what nature does.
Minds believe in memories
And sometimes hearts believe in love.
When hearts and minds do both agree,
Conceived are dreams converged as one,
But love of life and logic leaves
Our livelihoods left out of luck.

Deceived are these who dream of things
Composed of money, grease, and blood:
Mechanical beings, with cogs and springs,
Like clockwork do this planet run.
In tightened shifts, devices click,
And slowly start to smog the sun,
But smoke and fog made synthetically,
How many does this bother? None.
Machines, you see, they do not breathe
The air they leave beneath for us.
They call this craft their politics,
And leave us here to pay in blood.
One by one, by one, we wonder,
Where the humans lost their love.

When will men begin to see
What nature sees how nature does?

Steam, Heat, sweltering mechanisms at work,
cogs, collected, combined, creating copper cirque,
wheels rotating, furnaces incinerating, gears moving at busy speed,
circulating, building, crafting, machines making what we need,
Tubes pump Scarlet Liquid, contraptions clank and ratchets clink,
as I ponder - what all the parts do, one requires to think.
Parts seldom give up, nor contraptions shirking,
but this wonder, marvel, machine, is the human body working.

My home is in a vintage tin
Belonged to your great grandma
With many other varied breeds
Our cousins sorted into jars

I'm often fastened up tight
In British stiff collared fashion
Occasionally burst off
When shirts are ripped open
In the haste of frisky passion

In my other guise
When I am tapped
I connect you worldwide
My neighbour form words and stories
Whilst I encrypt some code for spies.

Machinery, you really need me
To start and then to stop
To raise alarm bells
And when pressed call the cops

I'm a round reminder
Of how life began
Innie or outie and proud
Of how mum's body nurtured your
In utero life-span

Dangerous in the wrong hands
I must be closely guarded
For if you press me
World war three
Could easily be started

o mechanical world
we are the grease
to your machines
that hold you
for "ease" of "living"

how does one manage life
with great difficulty
we beings, are just being
but are we beings, truly living
in this world where the self
is not who we really are
but who they want us to be

-Kaya

We woke up again, the clouds are the same
We rouse again, the soil on the earth is the same
When the night draws we lock and dream
When the day storms we exist as labour machines