Here I sit
Astride my computer
Held in its gaze
Unable to draw away
For fear
That i may miss
Some small titilation
Or item of interest.

I sit here
And feel
Slowly
Slowly
Less
Me
And more like
My screen.
A souless avatar,
A mindless hologram
Composed of
Ones and zeros

I commune
With my
Digital peers.
Empty as
A jar
Which once held
Homemade jam.
I feel incomplete.

I attended a poetry session today,
Enacted by poets through their
Onomatopoeic, gesticulated gestures,
Clenched fist-ed, strained or wide-eyed,
Shifting their weight from one foot to another,
Like dodging their public speaking fears,
To the other leg,
As they tried to build
A rapport with the audience,
Through their words as they (the words) sifted
Through the folds of the air
To make a silent thud against
An attentive soul's solid, soiled exterior.

While reciting, looking into lit screens,
Scrolling up and down,
And trying to look for that line,
That trail of thought which was (most) perfect
Only in its untimely, chaotic, vague birth in that mind.
As the poets tried to familiarise
Themselves with their feelings
Presented on a fresh paper in
A font different from how
It had felt in that first gush of thoughts,
When they had probably first thought of
Penning down their thoughts,
Wise as they were to realise how
Precious they were.
Maybe they wanted to
Articulate their thoughts in written,
But ended up pinning them down.

Let me down slowly
Instead fiercely
In scarcity
We bare teeth
A step beneath
The intangible surface
Of the hi-how-are-you
Conversations
Perversions of things
We want to say

While I try to figure
Which is the trigger
And which the consequence,
A battle breaks out
Externalities cave in.
Simultaneity takes on a horrid meaning.
Anticipation becomes the catalyst
Of a demon that I created
But know not *******.

I forget where my comfort zone lies
In the sphere of my inability
To face, to do things all these years,
Or the realm I wanted to leap to.
There's no single-leap shortcut though,
I've been crawling all the while
With my head buried in the sand.

That single leaf flutters by
with the wind swooshing it right and left
until on the ground safely it lands
my feet click and clack
with the pale concrete floor
and so do yours
just next to mine
The wind pushes softly
playing with both our hair
you joke and i giggle
you smile and i blush
The wind is more violent
the clouds are more gloomy
the wind pushes your hand
right into mines, you claimed !
and my heart smiles
never like before
off the ground lifted i feel
like that leaf swooshing
in the warm windy air
you glance at me softly
and agree with my thoughts
But to ever land
back on the concrete ground,
shall I?

As they say
Words fall short to describe experiences.
Photographs are still pixels away
From being a reflection
Of one's memory -
A refracted reflection,
Of the experience itself.
So what about hopes
To capture, treasure memories for this lifetime?
What about people
Who love to imagine,
And spend their lives
Living on memories
Of those imagined sights,
Scenes, smells and people?