Icons

The moving shell,

Holding men at large scale,

Doesn’t intend to lope,

Through windows,i hope.

And i see Homo sapiens,

With vague opinions.

Gliding flags of pride,

On their lame ride.

And what captivate,

Are the icons of fate.

Constitute another domain.

Am i blind in vain?

For i view mere object,

And objective i reject.

Begin with nature's gift;

The flower on watery rift.

The revolving machine;

On the room welkin.

An open palm;

Helping rebel,calm.

A ferocious animal head;

Always feeling red.

A static clock;

Soundless, tic-toc!

A light emitting instrument;

On the struggling segment.

The steam engine vehicle;

Pressed between colours,fickle!

A fluid filled seed;

For visual not feed.

A four-legged silent giant!

From north extravagant!

Odd!  see change,

Comb for hair range!

Here, one goes for women!

The sewing machine omen.

The more i view,

My acknowledgement due.

More than being political,

Creative minds, philosophical.

And who says, i bore?

Instead, i m enjoying on fore.

Sometimes amazed,vexed.

Tang of philosophy,annexed.

As the swaying symbol,

Coming day will bless us all.

Will the trend of material,

Replace logic and real?

Then, i wish to icon, 'Human Brain'

And using it,being an aim.