No eye contact is to be had by Susie Gharib

I walk the streets since I’m still part of the herd,
which our ancestors had called humankind, 
but no eye contact is to be had,
only an ocean of heaving, bowed heads, 
absorbed in the contents of their possessive hands.

Little, local gossips have swelled into global slander of the first class.
Domestic, personal festivities are available for pernicious sneers and heated debates.
Each ego is inflated with the aid of a magnifying screen,
in an age that teems with billions of superstars,
expelling the Sun from Planet Earth.

The cordial handshake has been replaced by a bleep or a flashing light.
Intimate chats have been ravished by the crowds,
in an age wherein privacy has become a thing of the past.

Wherever I turn my face, I see posers before an electronic glass.
Mirrors have disappeared from many households.
Studios gape at selfies
and Narcissus is contemplating a resurrection in order to commit suicide.

A conversation is no longer a warm flow that bridges the chasm 
between interlocutors standing face to face
for at least one eye and a preoccupied mind
are always on the alert
in anticipation of a text message or a call,
or perhaps a prize!

The size of one’s device
determines one’s social status and capacity to advance.
Jewels in shops wonder what lures customers away to accessories
that deck the precious bodies of mobiles.
Books gather dust in bookshops
for they are no longer fit to be wound in gift wraps
for PDFs can perform their job, 
and mute as they are, 
how can they compete with cellular phones that interconnect people all over the globe?

I stand gaping with empty hands,
feeling like a pillar of salt, 
and view the robotized species with the saddest of eyes.

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