Oh, how I wish I could go back to those Times

Oh, how I wish I can go back to those times
Waking up to the smell of decoction
Freshly brewed
The steam from the filter coquettishly melting
Into the nothingness of air
A croon from the tape recorder
Canvassing the morning’s backdrop
In hues and pastels
Of monochromes, grey scale and bit colours
A cassette fixated within
Wounding and unwinding its roll of film
One spool to the other
Discharging a melody
Palliative to the ear

A melodious discharge
Of triggering dependencies, it was
For even bathrooms and WCs demanded independence
Back then, refusing co-existence
Attached units, bathtubs, overhead and hand showers
Existed in books genre’d under Royalty
Or establishments five starred
Tiles, marble and granite
Ranked and reserved for the poshest
Of grandeurs
And ceilings and concrete meant
Cementing the bowels of the structure
Disabling any falseness or shallowness
In a revolving mixer

The disabling shallowness garnished
Travel sojourns with
Conversations and exchanges of
Self-trotted journeys
Dotting every train station en route
Representing a different colour from the wheel of fortune
Or playing cards dealt in an uncontained
And unconfined fervour
On the lower and side berths of the
Adjoining compartments
A slice and dice from one’s billet
Locking horns with another’s
Until
The terminus loomed into sight
And the passengers
Lost amidst the crowd
Once more, as they were meant to be
Only to repair in the warm
Coracles of their home

Repairing in warmth, it was, for
Anonymity mattered, moreover, preserved
Dear Diaries, LiveJournals and Reddits of the time lived
Secretly counting their days
Of restrictive glory, until time
Snubbed their momentousness
As selective segments of individualistic pages
Began to be
Trafficked, lesser to share
Better to demand attendance and attention
Instituting high maintenance
Flavoured with
Knotty angles and naughty corners

An era of discharging, disabling, repairing
And instituting it was
Oh, how I wish times had paused there
So that I needn’t go back
For, instituting meant setting in motion
The beginning of another era

Setting in motion another motion it is
As humans identify needs
Wants and desires, seeds sown for greed
And convenience
Night falls paved the way to
Artificial lighting
Clothing opened the
Way to fashion
Mobility led
The way to vehicles
And the inability to communicate
Harbingered beatings; mental and physical
And technology

Harbingering beatings it is
For our race
Continually has sought, what it can’t lay
Its hands upon
As greeds cascade to desires
That are spelt out as wishes
In turn, sentencing into needs
All meant to be defined, sooner than soon
As elementary
And, a couple of eyelid bats later
A birthright

A time of batting eyelashes it has become
For, we must be handcuffed
This time, by force
To go back
When out looked upon
To moments that seemed simpler and undemanding
Even if it means
Writing once more on leaves
Through quills
Precedence to walking over the attractive yet destructive quilt
Of laziness and lethargy
And embracing one another bare-bodied
Devoid of a manicure, a shave, or a shaped brow

Embracing the other bare-bodied, it is, for
We’ll be nothing – a nobody – after
Stripping our identities from social media and
The internet
A vicious maintenance of having to
Remember umpteen profile details and
Password(s)
Rescuing ourselves, if I may, from the audaciously
Obnoxious raves and rants
Only because we have an opinion
And an account
For and about everything
Sheltering in the self-made proprietorship of a handle
Under the sun

A self-made proprietorship it is
For travelling today means partiality
To air-conditioned compartments
And vehicles
With a pair of plugs vacuumed in the earhole
Or, a screen the size of one’s palm
Its brightness compromised
Based on the keeper’s conveyance
The thumbs pirouetting across it, above all
Like a ballet dancer
Not meant for audience’s viewing, but for garnering
Privacy, pray from what
Remains the unanswered piece of the puzzle

Although self-proclaimed privacy
It is, no longer the kind I want to take charge of
By instigating unforced filters, appealing captions
Or, even maintaining a milled
Profile, with a near-perfect image
Diffused with wordy opinions and succinct hypocrisy

I am bored
Tired and drained
By it all

A draining spell it is
For I’d rather own a puppet show
That will allow me to operate
The good ol’ strings
Of my accord
Not to (dis)prove theories of presumptuous assumptions
By a émigré
But because
That is all there is to it

Oh, how I wish I can go back to those times
Waking up to the smell of decoction
Freshly brewed
The steam from the filter coquettishly melting
Into the nothingness of air
A croon from the tape recorder
Canvassing the morning’s backdrop
In hues and pastels
Of monochromes, grey scale and bit colours
A cassette fixated within
Wounding and unwinding its roll of film
One spool to the other
Discharging a melody
Palliative to the ear

 

Burnout
Source: Pixabay

 

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2 thoughts on “Oh, how I wish I could go back to those Times

Your thoughts will lend me a smile :)

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