In a moment of urban loneliness,
I try to fathom what am I doing with my life.
Late at night, staring at the brightly lit screen
emotions swell up in me, to express which these digital emotions don’t suffice.
They just stand there, in their characterizations
plainly and shamelessly inquiring me of their purpose. One of them smirks.
I will trade these endless nights of staring at black screens for one solitary night under the stars.
But we’re urban. We don’t exist anymore. The sky doesn’t exist.
The Milky Way has faded to cede space to spotlights. And headlights.
But we’ll be content with smiling at those dimly lit screens whose batteries die as we behold our faces beholding us right back.
Subversive, yet divine. The ethereal bliss lies in selfies.
PS: When I look at myself in the mirror, The Scream is painted. And Francis Bacon laughs away in darkness.