Meta Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI
Meta
Fingers do not rest—
an urge to inform the rest
about me.
Yes, I am good.
My dress. My beauty.
My boyfriend.
Everything a statement,
a declaration,
an assurance.
Reassurance wears many colors.
Modernity feeds on messages.
Sound and image flood the phone;
the brain floods too—
dopamine, serotonin.
How do I know I am doing well?
Meta assures.
Meta—
our world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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2/27/2026 9:15:02 PM # 1.0.0
