Human, Being Online

By Shreeja Ravindranathan

I am

thumbing through numerous lives 

searching somebody’s smiles

for poetry

bookmarking texts of pictures of travels 

stories of lovers’ journeys 

and my fingers are sore and 

my ̶h̶e̶a̶r̶t̶ hurt is numb.

That is the narrative.

I am

liking everything 

joylessly 

feeling something

hinged on despair 

slumped in a nest of failings 

mind flailing 

and hands clasping a cup of scalding tea. 

I am steeped in thoughts.

And for a breath, all that is concrete is the pulsing warmth between my palms 

echoing the staccato beat in my neck

and I swallow Earl’s grey, caustic reproaches 

and some air. 

I am okay.

By Shreeja Ravindranathan