By Reshmy Warrier
This is a fancy, exotic village,
But when you enter, you are doomed,
Once you are accustomed to the glaring lights,
You will see, everything is on sale,
not just the clothes and wares,
But also the dogs, cats and the people,
Not to mention their babies,
there are boxes after boxes,
Of neon lit colours, and humans caged within,
Wanting attention, craving rather,
Fighting for shelf space, eyeballs, desperate to influence.
We know who is in London or Maldives,
Your aunty's stepfather or probably that dud celeb, pouting,
The jokes get lamer, kids are made to dance or even cry, Why?
Just for some likes, just for some comment?!
Oh sir, so you like cats that can talk,
Let me show you more cats that can talk,
No, you prefer dogs. Dogs? Ok then!
The hearts are growing on the screen, almost like flipping outa bodies,
But did we really have hearts to give? Or f*cks?
Mindless zombies,
We lost our heart a long time ago.
This blitzkrieg has a glaring pit at its core,
We are transfixed,
Selling our wares, selling ourselves,
Maybe, Instagramam isn't a place we enter,
Probably it is a bug lodged in our mind,
Playing us over and over.