The Year 2090

It finally happened!

The old folks had perceived it.

Saddened, they left and began their uninterrupted rest.

They said to us the untamable generation, vile from head to toe;

“love is not a mental sickness, please hear us when we say love is not a rare disease.”

Veiled by our own beliefs we silenced the seemly psychotic seniors, unaware that we were slowly being chained by our ignorance.

So, it finally happened;

Love became a sign of weakness;

Regularly named a sickness by the medical genius we coined your highness—the internet.

It is now a rare disorder only worth the people’s laughter.

An unfortunate mishap, more like a bother.

Consumed in our gains we forget daily the main healer;

The reason we used to laugh a lot;

The reason we used to sing on more.

The song, the core, the sound, the very breath of what we call own.

Our faces expressionless

Our minds emotionless

Our lives meaningless

A world where there is no need but, with plenty in need.

A sphere where there is no loss, but containing many who lost.

“No need for you as long as I am here”—our vile motto.

This pathetic, unapologetic, delinquent society chased away the glue,

The binding force that kept us all sane.

And so, it happened.

Love is now a mental sickness,

A rare disease which is a bother.

No cure,not humane at all.