The world hums now
not with birdsong
but with servers breathing in cold rooms
their pulses brighter than dawn
their voices softer than the silence of trees
Screens glow like altars
we kneel before them with restless thumbs
searching for meaning
in pixels that scatter like fireflies
trapped behind glass
We built minds out of circuits
taught them to dream in numbers
to mimic our laughter
to finish our poems
yet sometimes I wonder
if they dream of us too
or only of efficiency
I remember a different rhythm
when letters arrived with ink stains
and the waiting was its own kind of tenderness
when night meant darkness
not notifications blinking in the corners of our eyes
when the air was thick with stories
told by grandparents who held history
not hyperlinks
Back then silence was not absence
it was presence
the creak of a chair
the cicadas in summer heat
the slow unwinding of time
that did not demand we measure productivity
to prove our worth
Now we carry infinities in our pockets
the world shrunk to a search bar
and yet
our hearts feel farther away
from the warmth of one another
I am not ungrateful
for the miracles of this age
machines that heal
algorithms that find us songs
we never knew we needed
But still
I long for mornings when beauty was slower
when love was handwritten
when the sky
not the screen
told us what it meant to be alive
September, 2025
