We run our courses
Looking at streams of big selfies
Taken with an extended palm or a selfie stick.
We make liking a democracy
Although it rarely is. We look for science
Why sea horses are paternal
And how anatomy has made a new
Organ called a mesentery, or how
Nanoparticles are becoming
We look for all the gossip
That can make our lives a little livelier
After all the salacious after hours
Of politicians are always news worthy.
Still why we look into that portal
Where personalities are many
Yet identities are rare, is to know
That we do belong to a network
A circle of kith and kin
The aunt who sends prayers of St Anthony of Padua
Or the friend who was there when
You were having panic attacks
Or the acquaintance who has
A little crush on you or your mom
Who keeps on censoring what
You put on facebook. And all these
Actualities is what makes life
A little potpourri of spices and petals
Each lost to each other, a little
Collection of nobodies when together
Gives character, a mixed fragrance,
To a little face in a book.
And we are all lightweights,
Spices and petals, always battling,
Cornered, punched by disease,
Fogged by doubt, hemorrhaging anxiety,
Withering until the fragrance is no more.
When all that remains
Is a selfie on a page, who will
Rarely be remembered except for one creature
Who perhaps knew the fervor
Of his after shave or the smell of his
Armpits, and the stench of his farts.
And that selfie will stay on
While his memory fades, dust in the
Cosmic wind, adrift to time.
And all that he was, rests in a JPEG
An alibi to time, and a biography
Of a book behind a face.