From the instant of booting till I shut
Thee down, ally, thou sucketh up mine hours
As dost a briskish bee off a bloomer, but
Yet I canst help adh'ring mine double arse
To the plastic throne and immerse
Mine head in thy witch-tricks diverse.
Thou possesseth a mind-magnet, methinks,
For thou art flaired at fracturing resolves
Of abstinence and control; mine wit drinks
To thy health, mine little fickle heart dissolves
In thy magic brew of cursors,
Icons, windows, files and folders.
Why, thy windows art labyrinths of dark,
For I am oft-trap't in thy folder maze;
Window sans 'Up' button be a question mark
And a cul-de-sac I do fear to face.
But to be netted as poor fish
In them's what I wish against wish.
Graspeth I wherefore thine nineteen-inch screen
Was be brainy bast'rds baptised 'Monitor'
For it doth exclude a high might unseen,
Addicting souls stronger than might liquor
May it too be called idiot box,
And be virussed with Trojan pox!
Thy blinking cursor's one vile hypnotizer
Thy icons hieroglyphics of today.
Brownian Motion describ'th thy pointer:
Never will the in single pixel stay!
I wish pups pee on thy Mouse plus
Thy See Pee You and You Pee Us!
The Keyboard! Keyless problems art her keys,
Each time mine fingers touch her I draw doom.
Thy encroachment of mine suite ruined mine peace,
Advent killed the notion of Single Room.
Loathe thee for these, O Computere!
Yet love thee for these, Computere!
Nirmal Raj
Chennai
(Tamilnadu)
