OMG! It has happened.
I was on campus last week to speak on Haiku poetry in one of the classes. I stopped the teacher who was accompanying me.
“Listen, “ I said. “It is soooo quiet. I don’t hear any human voices.”
We were not alone. There were students all around me but I heard no human voices. They were attached to their electronic devices, strolling toward their destination. It was like being in a zombie movie with shadows of human beings walking all around me in silence. I felt the creep.
At the coffee shop, I observed couples at a table, but couldn’t even eavesdrop to their conversations because there were none. Maybe I’m too late with this poem I’ve shared before:
To Children of the 21st Century
How do you keep your fingers so free of dirt?
How do you come in from play without
Mud on your feet, your clothes, your cheeks?
How do you not even sweat?
How do you speak without giving eye contact
To the person sitting in front of you?
How do you spend time with your friend
Without conversation?
Oh Children of the 21st Century,
Why is there silence in a room filled
With family on this holiday?
How did you become so mute?
Do you know how rain feels
Soaking your shirt to your skin?
The smell of sea salt in your hair
After a dip in the sea?
Have you watched a little seed
Pushing its first breath
Out of soil you’ve patted down
A few weeks ago?
Can you see a cardinal, a mynah,
A crow, with your eyes closed, listening
To their signature songs they sing out to you
In your own back yard?
Do you know the feel of your grandpa’s grip
Warm and strong in your hand?
The story behind that long scar that runs
The length of his arm?
Do you carry memories
Of your grandma’s smiles
Each time you had said,
Hi Grandma. Can I help you?
Do you ever count clouds, lying
On soft green grass, laughing
Over silly stuff shared with a friend?
Do you ever cry over a child starving
In Africa or in your neighborhood?
Feel upset over trees being cut
For freeways and shopping malls,
Fancy sports arenas?
Have you ever used the eraser
At the end of a pencil,
Writing a poem, a song, a story.
A thank you note?
Do you know the feel of crisp
New pages of a book, as they unfold
Moving plots, faster than your impatient
Fingers can follow your eyes?
Oh, Children of the 21st Century,
How did you become so dead?
From Dangerous Woman: Poetry for the Ageless by
frances h kakugawa
