Those drones can tell the color of your t-shirt
Before it’s splayed in blood.
Those maps can pick her distinct stride
Before she calls out; at your door.
Dissent can put the non-abled to bed
Before they’re seen or heard.
And cyber cells pick up your love letters,
Even as you burn your bread.
Your pulse is not your own these days
They belong to someone else
Your heart rate can be heard these days
Across an “app” filled cell.
Yet through it all,
In human dreams,
As made for CCTV;
I stay seeped in you,
As you think of me,
Can memories be held in rewind buttons?
Can Polaroids capture your ghosts?
Can a selfie stick prod your inhibitions?
Can those social networks map your pores?
Can CCTV feel the way one feels?
Can a CCTV feel your breath on me?
The sensibility was paramount she said
Of feeling the pinch;
When your every step is in motion to a drumbeat
That isn’t yours.
When every impulse is to look overhead
And remind oneself,
That to be prim and proper,
Is to be viewed to be so.
Your social posts try real hard
To give off airs
But big brothers don’t watch anymore she said.
They hover. They create. They Blood.
New innocents who drown;
In calibrated guilt.
Your fate decoded;
In rewind mode!