Fatima Abdul-Aleem
Lost Affair
I am crying,
the tears are falling,
down they come.
An outpour of loneliness,
expressed in the only way I know how.
You see,
I miss the warmth,
the feel of someone’s caress
on my pages.
Massaging my covers,
touching my essence,
as they delve into the words
enveloped inside me.
They seek the promise of escape,
the illusion of make believe,
the power of growth.
I miss their scent.
That sweaty smell
of a hard days’ work,
that lingering aroma
of the morning’s perfume.
I miss being alive.
A thumping passion
in the hearts of the young,
as they eagerly look ahead.
A resounding memory
of the elderly,
as they prepare to exit
this adventure, called life.
For I have been replaced with
touch screens, audio, live feeds.
Machines bellow out my contents,
videos explain what I mean.
Computer keys are punched
to replace his fingers,
her hands.
The melody of the love we shared
exchanged,
for an iPad, a Kindle, a Nook.