Yet another sunset
goes unnoticed in that
cosmopolis by the sea.
That purple dusk,
busy ushering the gold and
amber out, shimmers goodbyes off
their watery counterparts below.
And the Digerati too.
A droopy-necked,
round-shouldered,
red-eyed horde who choose to
stay blind to
everything but the screen.
A burgher is forcing two drops of
an expensive eyewash
into his itchy eyes
pointed skyward. Oblivious to the
translucent evening right
above and also another
city soul, just hit by
a speeding car.
A crowd is gathering, not to
help but to wrap his limp
body in a tint of blue light.
A trill turned the blue, white.
A useless factoid was all it
took,
for one concerned soul to
become yet another
slave to the device.
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at editor@madrascourier.com.
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