Behold the darkness I grip,
a touch, it comes to life.
O’ see how they dance,
the nervous youth,
to the twist of a behemoth’s tune.
While feline companions amuse,
the dogs of instant gratification.
See the books that,
lie face down,
yearning to be read.
The pages abandoned when,
the story was sent,
yet the plot lay in ambush.
See the propagandist cutlasses gleam,
plentiful like new shingles,
on the roof of a decadent house,
in an old industrial town.

O’ see the
nervous young unite,
in their blighted lust,
for the lovely bluest tick.
The lovely bluest trick.
See veracity’s skin filtered,
by a purported Parisian hue,
and freedom’s orbs self-tethered,
upon a conformist’s callous cue.
See the lenses of a Kodak,
drunk upon the vistas,
while parched lay
the battered lenses,
of our mass myopia.

Shantanu Singh writes while daylighting as a student at Law Faculty, Delhi University.

Featured image credit: Pariplab Chakraborty