This poem feels incomplete, so I need your feedback.
At birth, the umbilical cord is cut.
From this moment, the now phantom limb burns
deep in our gut, and wonders
how it’s ever going to
feel connected again.
Luckily for my generation,
never before have people been so
‘connected’.
With technology we can attach,
we can attach,
we can
attach.
But there are glitches,
mixed signals,
crossing between what we knew,
and what we now
know.
We know using our hands to swipe is a control,
and as such waving goodbye has become
a command.
We know that while
our eyes
give the greatest clarity and definition,
they cannot be trusted anymore,
because their shapes do not mirror
our rectangular visions.
We know our first words learnt are
‘iAm
iAm i
Am’
and missing from our vocabulary is
‘we
Are’
We know the heart vibrates
when we receive messages from others,
and soon anatomy books will show
it being no longer in
our chest,
but in our pockets.
(Though every time we raise it
to our ears, we are surprised to hear
no beat).
We know our ancestors could successfully
navigate all four corners of the globe
by repeatedly getting
lost.
Now we play a delicate
balancing act
walking, heads down, too scared
to deviate from the 5cm
tightrope screen,
we tip-toe to
the coffee shop
right in front
of us.
We know how to like things,
how to like things,
how to like
things,
but not how to love.
E.
