Mobiles

Pegged down by our phones,
Each one so alone.
The metal box
Feels cold.
To the hands,
Where now only thumbs work.
Everything else is old.
The ghostly light
In the night.
Like sirens calling out.
Endlessly clicking the same pout.
In the same room, a parent and a child
Turn strangers.
The laughter..the camaderie
Everything blurs
Watching the same programs
Again and again
We have stopped staring at the sun, birds, trees and the rain.
Deserted parks, no one chases the butterflies
No one waves their hand when the planes fly.
The neck is forever bent
To stare at the incessantly flickering screen
Which wipes out everything, including the dreams.
The message pings,
The phone rings
A while later
Life is the same old lonely song that no one sings.
– Shailaza Singh