Gods of Silicon Valley
Poetry Sunday
Like a hellish horde of giant crabs,
climbing on each other’s broken backs,
you’re the uprising. Isn’t that
why you crash the twinkling dream
of a newborn child in your
bone-dried life to light its
dark gaping cracks. Yes,
slide an iPhone in his hands
as your loveless stare
flashes in the blinkering blankness
of that laptop on your lap. Tell him
you’re both playing the eye-contact game. Tell him —
Son! you’re winning, I’m proud-proud-proud,
while the video progress bar
drags on and on and on: 02:34–1:43:53–00:00 — were these the times
you became a mere blood bag
for its capillary action?
Your heart’s a mess, admit it,
why else would
they say — said — are saying —
you are — have been — have
drifted into non-existence
Hop on the stampede mountain, come on —
Here, we were born in the image of our
Gods in Silicon valley
Featureless without a photo filter
mouthpiece with a product description — no heart — no heart — no heart
At least, the cinema stands are a 90s sit-com,
droning on with the laughing tracks of a
thousand clueless teenagers. Can’t you see
we’re wearing our faces on our wrists
like hand watches, synchronizing times
to smile, to laugh, to shit, to love, to live: 05:12–2:55:59–00:00 — are these the spots
you’d like
to mortgage
or would you like to
wait for an economic twist
to change the script
to another capitalistic shitshow?
Hop on the stampede mountain, come on — Come on… Come on… Come on
Here, we were born in the image of our gods in Silicon valley
Featureless without a photo filter
mouthpiece with a product description — no heart — no heart — no heart
Copyright© Ahsan Yousaf, 2020
