My bedtime stories are a
cinematic experience in itself.
The closed eye visuals are just the timelapse,
Of discordant series of images.
Yet, something still feels familiar.
Perhaps, the order those looping images.
My dreams look just like
The real-life incidences.
Hitting hard with the Deja Vu,
About which I absolutely have no clue.
They seem like a motion picture trying to trap me,
Although their recurrence feels new everytime.
I’ve now memorised every moment
Of the movements in those visuals.
This has become quite regular now,
Just like an inevitable ritual.
I’m still unsure about when
I’m awake or asleep.
Although my eyes seem open,
It literally feels like living the dream.
The things I saw as a child,
Appeared before me in several ways.
The objects, the people, the places,
They looked the same but really weren’t.
The armchair my grandpa rested in,
Lost its prestige after he was gone.
The door I angrily slammed as a teenager,
Had its glow faded by the time I grew calmer.
The tricycle I rode and boasted about as a child,
Was left in a dark corner of my house, dusty.
The beaches I once made sand castles in,
Ebbed routined and charmless.
Once considered gems, all of these things were
Cornered in my house surrounded by dark walls.
But as the door opened,
My face illuminated with reminiscence.
The gateway released the Gems that embodied the
Special memories from the past.
What does the future hold for us?
Will we be machines or men?
Pumping ourselves full of information
Regardless of its relevance.
As the times change,
I hope humanity remains.
Will we be a flock of sheep,
Led by robots as shepherds?
Or consuming electronic chips
Only to be deluded by the wealthiest of nerds?
“We the people! We the people!”
Bleating on the streets like Sheeple.
Summoning for the gruesome torture,
By uniformed soldiers of the administrator.
The present isn’t any peaceful either,
But how efficiently will we survive the future?