A is A, B is B. So please, let me be.

Caught in the dream of Utopia,
Great men have theorised,
Analysed, idealised, devised
Worlds that many mesmerised.

In the clutch of what could be,
Should be, would be and might be,
they let their imaginations free be,
Creating fantasies, grandeur maybe.

Forget Thinkers, forget Scientists,
Forget Economists, forget Inventors,
Forget Futurists, forget Philosophers.
For a moment entertain me.

Who so father did stop in his way
from wishing on what their child be.
Who so didn’t care as much
as to let the things around be.

We want our house be big,
We wish our life be grand,
We hope our day be productive
and have a list to define it so.

Can’t a thing be what it is?
Why should anything be something else?
Why we crave the control all over?
Why suppress our will to will to be an idea?

Why suppress our nature to be unnatural?
Why worship something supernatural?
Why wish on a miracle? On what it's not?
Why can’t a thing being so miracle enough?