Artwork from Google πŸ™Š



LOVE: Access Denied.



Love, snarled on the information superhighway,

a few dashed off emails,
a few hastily typed out instant messages,

a shared meme,
a forwarded self-help quote –

a couple of sentences here and there,

unlike real conversations, infused with true love and with thoughtful care.



I am guilty – mea culpa – no two ways about my falling for the same,

where a few fingerstips spell out words of hasty ‘I love yous’,

where love feels like a to-and-fro tennis game.




mwaahs …

πŸ’œ …

gonna b l8 …

more mwaahs …



Now I know I’m an old dude from back in the day,

when we committed pen to paper whenever we had a something to say,

with rose petals between the pages of a handwritten letter,

and as all oldies look back,

that seemed so much more sensual, so much more personal,

with many drafts discarded, many ink stains on my fingertips,

much ‘Parker Royal Blue’ spilled,

many ‘HB’ pencils with blunted tips.




Now don’t castigate me for not being ‘down’ with the times,

for I find word-processers just brilliant,

with that ‘del’ button manna from heaven,

and ‘copy and paste’ just too fine,

especially nowadays where I fail to realise how quickly disappears,

all my time.




Yes, I am just an oldie, with selective amnesia and hazy wistful thoughts,

of a time when I was younger,

awaiting my beloved’s letter with palpable hunger,

yes, I am just an oldie yearning for what for me was a simpler time, a less rushed world,

when I spent hours, and hours more,

on how my “t’s” on blank parchment,

danced and swirled …



Artwork from Google πŸ™Š

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