Here—
each one shouts
to have his existence heard,
and the more he speaks,
the less he is.
Ah—these virtual arenas
of self-display,
where silence is disgrace,
and emptiness
is posted.
Once, man worshipped gods—
now, mirrors.
And the more one manufactures
his own image,
the less of himself
remains.
Social networks—
O marketplace
of modern slavery,
where each one names
his chain
“profile.”
Here, man no longer thinks—
he reposts.
No longer feels—
he performs.
He molds his emotions,
filters his suffering,
and hashtags his lies.
Here, truth—
worn out by repetition—
falls from meaning,
and falsehood,
by the roar of the crowd,
stands erect.
Here, all are seen—
yet no one
is understood.
All speak—
yet none
say.
All smile—
yet none
laugh.
O virtual man—
you fled the cage
only to be imprisoned
in a mirror.
You feared solitude—
and now live
in a crowd
that does not see you.
You measure your inside
with likes,
and the worth of being
with views.
You are no longer being—
you are display.
Ah—how well
you have learned
to pretend.
But even pretending
is no longer yours:
the system imitates for you,
the algorithm fabricates feeling,
and you—
you merely play
the role
of “I.”
In the world of networks,
man no longer lies—
he himself
has become
the lie.
Where all speak,
thought hides
in silence.
Let your page
remain dark—
perhaps,
for the first time,
you will touch
being.
From Poems of Madness
Ali Delshad Tehrani