Restless – An English poetry

The world is filled with echoes that are polished to look like reality. In the trending ultimate fakeness, no one is interested in genuine insight. It has been suffocated by static and shallow, repetitive content. Minds capable of sensing this superficiality, bear the pain of sensitivity and clarity, approving that patience and originality have become rare assets.

The mind is unsheathed,

It’s wired for depth;

receiving only static,

It’s the sound that hurts!

A hollow, looping sound.

The same quote, re-shared.

Second-hand thoughts-

In a thousand hurried voices.

No source! Just echo!!

Noise has supplanted the insights.

The sensitive eyes see the counterfeit.

The shine is too bright.

They deal in gilded lines, sold as belief.

Zero-effort opinions.

A glossy, fake expanse!

It’s information’s dust.

Dry, quickly inhaled.

Nothing original lives here.

Where is the silence?

The space required ‘just to be’?

Patience is an antique word.

For the thoughtful,

Sensitivity is pain.

Clarity is a curse.

Restlessness worn by the the soul is thin

Against a wall of ‘deficient dense’!

Unsheathed – uncovered , supplanted – replaced , counterfeit – fake , gilded – coated with something shiny (here), deficient dense – witless crowd (here)