Plastic Hearts in Concrete Gardens

I passed a tree today—

Or was it a lamppost shaped like one?

Its leaves made of solar panels,

Photosynthesizing data instead of sun.

A man stood beside it,

Scrolling through the void,

Searching for meaning

In an algorithm’s ploy.

He wore ambition like perfume—

Sprayed thick in the morning,

Faded by dusk.

His dreams stored in spreadsheets,

His laughter in drafts.

He had no time for sunsets,

No language for stars.

Only meetings and deadlines,

And invisible scars.

O modern man!

You builder of towers,

Drinker of lies,

How you have bartered the sky

For a fluorescent flicker,

The fragrance of soil

For a silicon whisper.

You speak in emojis,

But feel nothing inside.

A thousand “likes”—

And still your soul cries.

Once, men wept at poetry.

Now they scroll past it

To watch a cat dance.

Once, love was inked on parchment.

Now it’s swiped left—

Or worse, left unseen.

You—yes, you—

Who once painted myths on cave walls

Now snap selfies before mirror malls.

Your gods wear brands,

Your prophets post reels,

You bow not in temples

But before touchscreens of steel.

Tell me, O child of machine,

When did silence become awkward?

When did the wind lose its voice?

When did you trade the forest’s sigh

For the ringtone of shallow choice?

You walk through gardens

But see no bloom—

Only Wi-Fi signals,

And digital gloom.

The bee hums its sermon,

The river chants psalms,

Yet you answer only

To vibrating alarms.

Nature waits—

Patient as a forgotten mother.

She sends butterflies

As handwritten notes.

She weaves clouds like poems

Across the morning’s throat.

But you read none.

Your eyes—barcoded.

Your heart—remoted.

Your soul—overloaded.

Where is your affection?

Where is your awe?

Your sense of beauty

Now obeys the law

Of viral trends

And sponsored ads,

Of flawless filters

And grinning fads.

O man of concrete dreams,

Have you not tired

Of conquering machines?

Have you not hungered

For a touch unscanned,

A whisper that needs

No broadband?

Your gods once asked for prayers,

Now they ask for data.

Your spirit once bloomed like spring,

Now it ticks like beta.

And still you pretend—

Pretend that this is progress.

Pretend that your emptiness

Is just success in process.

You laugh in pixels,

Cry in memes,

But feel no fire,

No depth, no dreams.

How many friends do you need

Before one listens?

How many photos

Before one captures your soul?

How many roads paved

Before you notice

You’ve buried the meadow whole?

You’ve mastered space,

But lost your place.

You’ve mined the stars,

But missed the grace

Of holding hands

Without a screen.

Of hearing “I love you”

Without a machine.

There is no poetry in your breath,

Only caffeine and carbon.

There is no stillness in your step,

Only errands and burden.

You boast of freedoms

While wearing chains

Of finance, fear,

And fabricated gains.

O modern man—

How much more shall you forget?

Your childhood laughter,

Your grandmother’s gaze,

The taste of rain

In simpler days?

You bury the moon

Beneath neon lights,

Replace lullabies

With podcasts at nights.

You know the price

Of everything you own,

But not the cost

Of a rose fully grown.

Listen!

For the sparrow still sings,

Though you deafened your ears

With wireless things.

The earth still breathes

Beneath your wheels.

The sky still dreams

Despite your deals.

Return.

Not to the cave,

But to the cave of heart.

Not to the past,

But to the part

Of you untouched by code.

Unlabeled, unread,

But very much alive—

Though nearly dead.

Seek not the noise

But the hymn behind it.

Touch the grass

And truly find it.

Let not your legacy

Be chrome and cement,

But the echo of a man

Who finally went—

Back to his soul,

To truth and trees,

To mystery, love,

And deeper seas.

So here’s a mirror

In words I write:

Not to shame you,

But reignite

The fire you left

In a forest, forgotten—

Where truth still grows

And man is not rotten.

(Thanks for reading!)