In twenty twenty-two,
there is no need for Big Brother, telescreens or torture tools.
You are under your own surveillance 
and extremely scared of what people might think of you.
Self-censored, there is no need for the Thought Police,
since you have been transformed into a puppet 
whose conduct is condoned by all.
This becomes your self-proof.

In twenty twenty-two,
the wars that George Orwell exposed 
becomes a reality more tangible than before.
Everything is rationed, 
including your intake of pure oxygen
and the number of showers
or other visits to the bathroom.
Deprived of electric power,
you become a primitive man in modern clothes.

In twenty twenty-two,
they will bombard your harbor without killing you.
The precision of their weapons keeps you alive
but terrorizes your soul.
You only wonder whether your apartment will outlive the next blow,
with fissures visible on the ceiling and walls.

In twenty twenty-two, madness is manufactured at home.
A ruthless family member will reduce you to a knot of nerves
that twitches to the ebb and flow of a sadistic mood.
There is no need for the Ministry of Love 
or its 101 room.
Autocracy becomes a self-rule.