A quick, brain-stabbing noise of advertisements
and news comes on the television, today.
“BREAKING NEWS”, in bold, arrogant display.
“The farmer’s are marching in Mumbai.”
Shelley’s ghost slithers in your ear
“Rise like lions in slumber,
in unvanquishable number.”
And nowhere on the television, you find
news that could presage the horror
of collision, between man and social media:
a photograph doing the rounds
like a solemn night guard.
has come off slightly, unevenly
(Caked in the dirt of ambition,
the blood of sorrow and loss)
torn from its flesh, is a flap of thick
skin, flopping about in the breeze
like a dying fish, made quiet
with death and gangrene, like the
collar of your neighbour’s army jacket.