Afterwards

Afterwards. Didn’t we once used to smile and laugh? I can see that we seemed to be happy As I look at an old photograph. But now our mouths Seem almost paralysed Or are tight and grim. I vaguely recall a light in our eyes That seemed to shine from somewhere within. Weren’t there different coloured faces? Now we all seem to have similar greyish skin, As we quickly rush by, keeping our spaces. I don’t want to object or make fuss But if things are a bit anomalous I think it must be because Of the dreadful monster that never was. The streets are well lit, but eerily quiet, Like a peaceful but forgotten burial site, Only inhabited by hundreds of cameras Filming, even in the darkest night. The skies above have a strange beige light And no birds are singing, But lots of signs, colourful and bright Saying that we are winning The seemingly endless fight. But sometimes I think, something is not quite right, A memory lost, like a distant dream. And everything closed: cinemas, theatres And clubs where people used to dance. But everything is under control and antiseptically clean And nothing left to chance, And nobody is angry or cross Is it perhaps because Of the monster that never was? Well, I can’t ignore The fact that no one makes trouble - Anymore. And we are living in a safe, secure bubble, Without terrorists, criminals or war. And anyway: If someone broke the laws or disobeyed The police would soon be knocking on their door. We are perfectly fine, all ok, As long as we don’t make inconvenient suggestions, Or ask uncomfortable questions, Or wonder about the pills and injections (Supposedly all for our own protection). Or: what is happening with our stomach – Or intestines, (Because all the food we can buy Is tasteless and looks a bit synthetic). But I do sometimes ask myself why I often feel apathetic And mostly tired and cold. Although they say, there’s no more disease And I never see anyone who’s old, Or people cough or sneeze. And I do feel grateful and pleased For: everything is much better now And I know it’s all because Of the monster that never was. The children easy to manage Are obedient, quiet Don’t break things, complain or do any damage And not allowed to go out anymore. The little ones glued to TV’s Don’t know what books or teachers were for, Or rivers, mountains and trees. Or herbs, flowers and bees… The eleven, twelve and thirteens Entranced by small bright screens That tell them what to think, feel and dream So that their lives are uncomplicated And regulated By order and discipline, Without a pause… And know nothing about The monster that never was. The golden age Is what all the signs Colourfully procrastinate. And incessantly list the reasons Why we should be thankful and celebrate, And our knowledgeable leaders and protectors Wisely don’t tolerate, Gatherings, Dissension, Or any kinds of discussion or debate. And so there are things we shouldn’t mention. And I quickly forget And instead Listen to them proudly remind us How they erased all debts. And I really do feel thankful And can’t find anything to regret. But there are days When I have so much fuzziness in my head, That it’s difficult to focus my eyes Or even get out of bed. And sometimes wonder If it’s due to the micro-chip in my brain, That stops my negative thoughts Or feeling pain And so that I never have to choose Or ever complain. But without it, It would be hard to remember all the rules And complicated laws That started from the time Of the monster that never was. © Sangeet Portals 2020