Hands of the clock are crushing, a poem by Reginold Ajay Jacob, India

Hands of the clock are crushing,

Crushing with all their might,

In front of their mighty power,

Who can ever abide?

Grinders are crushing,

Every grain to sizes,

In front of thy power,

No man can abide.

We are producing icons,

A generation of Stereotypes,

Just like factory production,

That is just alike.

Number plate distinguishes automobiles,

We need not copy that frame,

God has made us unique,

Why try to copy in vain.

Note this poem was written in 1998. Poet questions as to why we should try to copy.