CLICK

My morning dawns
With the sunny
9 am sun,
And the very first
Touch that befalls
From my searching fingers
Is upon the touch screen
Of my very advanced
Smart phone.

The good morning conventions
Take charge
And I rise a little later
After having risen altogether,
In the slumber of my
Very interesting Facebook profile
And the messages that
Old friends
And banished fixations
Touch and type towards me.

All of that
And so much more reaches me
In my furnished 2 BHK,
And yet no one touches me
To wake my sleeping eyes,
And while sleep ascends
With sheer compassion
In the emptiness of the spaces
Within my home, within my inside.

Where's the name I made?
What's the part I played?
Oh wait! Someone just
Liked my picture on Instagram:
That's me at Starbucks,
Deliberately holding
That side of the mug
Where the logo appears,
Sneering upon desire and inability
Of those that cannot be
Like me- in that picture.

Also I forgot to say,
What Emily showed me that day
That place in central market.
They make superb pizzas,
A dozen of friends tried it too
And wrote fancy reviews
Just how I did.

And yet, I remember not
Telling anyone
About the delectables
From my granny's kitchen,
That are ever so available
At my service, at late nights
When no joint or restaurant
Would deliver to my bedside-
And at a time when
Clicking just wouldn't be enough.

-K.G.