On Display Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

Notifications keep arriving —
You are being noticed.
As if that were a blessing.

Be more visible.
Be more present.
Be more desirable.

My friend,
this business of being noticed
is a subtle theft.
It steals attention,
drains spirit,
turns living into advertising.

Why must I promote myself each day?
How long must I survive
by pleasing strangers?
When does the appeasement end?

In this wired world
every face wears a résumé,
every voice rehearses a pitch,
every hand holds something to sell.

How long must I stand
beside my produce,
smiling at passing eyes,
waiting to be chosen?

And when,
if ever,
may I simply be —
unpriced,
unpackaged,
unseen?