The age of loneliness

We are living
in the age of loneliness:
the elders,
while lives lived fast
and driven,
pass by
and there is no cry
except for the faint tear
in the silence
of early evening,
and the days passing,
calendars skipping,
missing in the routine,
dull and lifeless,
like a dusty doll in
a fancy cabinet

In the age of connection,
of disaffection,
of closeness and bravado
with distance and regret,
as the older ones are
somewhere and nowhere,
and families are scattered,
fragmented like twigs
from a tree,
but linked to pages and
devices that keep us all together,
so we are told.

It is indeed
the age of loneliness,
in houses, units, flats, and places,
neatly laid out with everything available,
for three persons, two,
but also one,
waiting for someone,
but expecting no one,
in this instant time
of fast communication,
with entertainment,
and things available,
but little given,
and nothing said.

And inside this
age of loneliness,
there is the hidden fire
of anxiety and depression,
that burns away slowly and consumes,
in the silence of dissolution,
and works with loneliness
sinister in the spaces where we live,
and all the time measured
the faces that seem to define
humanity have no fire and loneliness
at all, just the might be
or should be of lies.