much younger now
we the poets
of the brave new race
killing each other
with manufactured nuts
and bolts
we are a generation
of serpent-tongues
and x y z
impatient
with the oldspeak
of post&neo-modernism
our poems
consumable fast-foods
bonsaic
haunted by memories
of punctuations and histories
of metres and rhymes
we live our lives
in penthouses of Ivory Towers
reaching it through a backdoor
we are the shadows
of the elders we stabbed to death
chewed and spewed the pages of their soul
to paint
a translucent image
of our selves
to sign
our signatures in time
and redeem our Adamhood
