Screen
Dark — check!
Drinks — check!
Dorks — check!
Popcorn — crunch!
Spirits of dead actors roam the dark dome
The air dense with scents of cologne, alcohol, and locked lips
Lonely, yet attracting so many souls, this room
The only box Office we wish to extend shifts
No rejections, No deadlines
Only one we are allowed to dream
Crush on colleagues
Get married to society rejects
Sing Off-key
Laugh till our ribs crack with emotion down our puffy cheeks glowing in awe
Gravity cannot hold down our hearts
We fly fast to the wormhole
Nourishing vast fields of our minds with every chop and cut
A shortcut to the Universe of Oneness
Deep space aligned with the orbit of our souls
Glued to moving pictures
Make believe. with Dreams of lonely artists
Our brains, their audience
Our accounts, their mines
No one as vulnerable as we…
The Fans
Our blades, Gone with the wind
Spinning down and around every current trend
Sinking down the vastness of content
Blue-eyed whales dancing to the tunes of suitors
Sharks filing their teeth with boulders
Quarries filled with lost souls; lifeless bones laid to waste
Survivors swim deep into the pitch-dark waters
Blobs and Knobs
Disfigured in the eyes of critics
Shelved eternally never to be seen by curious audiences who yearn
For Novel experiences
Tired of Old wine dressed in new skins
Familiar with the stench and stains
Same sheet, just a different bed
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To rest their weary minds
Burdened with lies and memories
Of days past
When moist air from our lungs brought life and shine to disks
Players whirled with joy making out with plates; serving films
A union that only the power company temporarily brought apart
Tapes and Cassettes cared not to blink
Every dusk reminding the couple: “One day They will replace you”
As with every new generation, these words were disregarded
“You are just frustrated, old, past your prime… Look at how big… I would be sad too”
Happily ever aft…
Till cracks started showing, letting wireless networks slip through
Gold and blue shine no longer appealing
No more moist kisses on the face
Descent into resentment territory fast
Players gifted to antique shops
Shiny saucers shelved right next to the red tapes
Sorrow and shame, disks cry out from their hollow hearts “Is this Love?”
Dust fills the room as Mr. VHS coughs up “Man is Faithful to no one, but Change”
The Age of Streamers; Breaking Dawn
Parental Guidance robbed and shot down in a dark alley by the Internet thugs
The Walls set to guard future generations against past sins destroyed
Forbidden waters from the hills raging
Hills filled with vile spirits who sting artists with ideas
Hills that our ancestors moved with protests and prayers on sacred Mountains
Listen closely to the Nine-year-olds
Their conversations…
Smart kids burdened with information
Unlike us
Dirty toddlers who played in the dirt on sunny days, skid in the mud during storms
Scarred knees covered with clay
Blood, sweat, and joyful tears on every eve as mom’s sponge scrubbed
In this age of Ultron
Kids five and fifty all line up to charge their L-Ions
Choking the cubs and frying reasoning ions
Wild jungle of extinction
Basic needs?
Food, Shelter, and Screentime.
TBC… after my show.
Opening credits…
