Tag: life

airplane mode

airplane mode

“an ode to a man who glitched before he healed”

i woke with a flicker in the corner of my sight,
the ceiling fan spun like a buffering byte.
my bedsheet shimmered in 480p,
and my own hands lagged behind me.

outside, the trees refreshed in loops,
birds chirped in tones from whatsapp groups.
the sky had a filter, warm and fake,
the clouds swiped left before they could break.

my coffee steamed like a netflix stream,
my mirror pixelated mid-daydream.
when i blinked, my face would freeze,
like a paused call in a foreign breeze.

i ran to a doctor, then three, then more,
they said it was stress – or metaphor.
“your mind’s a modem, overfed,”
but i knew it was my soul instead.

i lived on rectangles, scrolled to sleep,
sought dopamine in every beep.
i loved in texts, fought in threads,
and cried in memes while breaking breads.

my work was slack, my rest was screen,
my prayers – just playlists in between.
even silence had a buzzing tone,
and i felt most distant when never alone.

so i fled.

not a wellness retreat with leafy tea,
but a forest with no electricity.
no signal bars, no glowing keys,
just dirt and dew and dragonflies.

the first night, my fingers shook,
reaching for screens that never looked.
i whispered “okay google” to a stone,
and wept when it did not answer the tone.

but then, a curious thing began –
the stars showed up, unfiltered, grand.
the moon said nothing but stayed so still,
and i felt a fullness i couldn’t fill.

the rain fell like applause on trees,
the wind told jokes in rustling leaves.
and slowly, my breath began to sync,
with the universe’s ancient link.

i watched the sunrise load in full,
without a lag, without a pull.
and i didn’t share it. i just knew –
it was meant for me, not the algorithm’s view.

now, i walk where no cables hum,
where tweets are sung, not thumbed.
i listen more, i speak in tone,
i’ve updated into flesh and bone.

once, i feared disconnection’s gate,
now, solitude feels like a clean slate.
this isn’t exile – it’s a return.
a flick of a switch – the soul’s concern.

so no, i’m not off.
i’m not away.
i’m just on
airplane mode.

i’ll be here when you return

i’ll be here when you return

“from the pov of a rescued dog”

i wait by the shoe rack, wag on low speed,
they pat my head and leave  – like they always do.
the lock clicks twice, like a closing heartbeat,
then it’s just me, and the ticking, and the view.

the sunlight creeps in through the drawing-room lace,
it warms the floor where i sprawl and stare.
sometimes i bark at invisible things,
sometimes at echoes that aren’t really there.

by noon i’m pacing, checking the door,
wondering why it smells less like them.
the silence feels like it’s got sharp teeth,
and even my tail forgets how to wag then.

i nibble the toy that once had squeaks,
but now it just has memories and dust.
i curl up near their old worn shoes,
because even the smell of them feels like trust.

sometimes the neighbor kids giggle and shout,
dangling biscuits from their big white flat.
but i know that game  – they won’t drop it down.
it’s not food, it’s just fun they’re laughing at.

once, i couldn’t hold it  – i’m sorry for that.
they were late, and the tiles got wet.
i buried my nose in shame and fear,
thinking  – “will they still love me yet?”

and when they go to “goa” or “rome,”
i know the brown bag with my leash means not home.
the kennel has bowls and smiles and beds,
but none of them sound like their footsteps.

still, i try to be brave, make friends and sit,
but at night i howl with my old street grit.
the concrete cold feels like déjà vu  –
abandonment wears the same old shoe.

i’m jealous of kids with stay-at-home mums,
of lap dogs always getting picked up and swung.
i’m sorry i growl when they hug a stray,
i just don’t want to be replaced one day.

i was once a shivering pup in rain,
with bones for ribs and fleas for friends.
they gave me a name, a bed, a bowl,
and i promised them love that never ends.

so every time the sky turns gold,
and scooters hum and lift doors slide,
i rush to the entrance with all i’ve got  –
just hoping it’s them on the other side.

they think i don’t know the days of the week,
but i do  – weekends smell stronger of love.
those are the days when they stay home,
and i get belly rubs from the heavens above.

i don’t need words, i don’t need much  –
just a gentle call, a familiar touch.
they may leave a hundred times or more,
but i’ll be waiting by the same old door.

through thunder, boredom, hunger, or sun,
with stitched-up toys and dreams that run  –
no matter the silence, no matter the burn…
i’ll be here when you return.