No man has a face anymore!
With everyone’s bonce
buried on the lighten screen
clutched in their hands.
A man with his eyes glazing the ground
knocks a road passer flying,
falling on his face after tripping over him.
Upon realizing he could see,
there arouses an inferno of seethe,
and he apologises for his sins.
My fear lies more with those behind the wheels.
They could die and kill.
once I could have been hit,
I ran to the other side of the road
and he ran straight into a pole.
An addiction that sweeps the age
has climbed to an epidemic stage.
Like the rising of Phoenix from ashes,
we buy into a franchise
that robs us of our sanity.
They are catching fire and the smoke
attracting a grip so strong over our psyche.
Twenty-four seven, we lay waste hours,
tweeting our time away, and surfing our minds off.
Even as we wear underwear, we are still texting,
spending donkey years in the toilet no longer bored.
We are enough by the world in our hands,
caressing, cuddling and cradling it.
Poem by Ezekiel Archibong (Oluwasalvage)