Mind the Gap

This was created to be spoken

And we stand here, huddled together in this moving case,

packed in like cattle so close that we can stare straight into the other’s distant eyes,

we watch their emptiness reflecting back at us.

We are surrounded by bodies, propped up shoulder-to-shoulder, ready for market yet there is no warmth in our uncomfortable enforced embraces,

the only warmth we find sits in the encased connections held within our hands.

Transfixed by the boxes balanced between our thumbs and fingers,
 like a theatre stage between two curtains,

we watch self-constructed realities played out for our own private viewings,
built to order, custom made, programmed to play

microcosms of our own world vision.

Our only desire is to zoom into albums of digitally enhanced images,

so dissimilar from the originals that we barely recognise our own airbrushed faces.

And we occupy ourselves feeding on meaningless knowledge,

celebrity updates, comedy trends, scandalous gossip,

there is no end to the quick fixes that satisfy our need to fill this time,

you see it distracts us from what really matters;

the implosion of our world and those within it.

The moving carriage slows down, then jerks to a halt,

there’s a pause –

until the pre-recorded voice calls,

‘mind the gap between the train and the platform’.

Mind the gap.

The distance to cross between the train and the platform has got bigger,

so wide that we can no longer glide over with the confidence we once had,

we are caught in the rat race, trapped in the chase for money and power

we stride to reach the privileged who tower above us in their sterile office blocks.

Don’t look down, they warn, that’s where oblivion sleeps.

We have become so entwined with our wealth and familiarity that we no longer venture further than our own circle of friends,

it is their ends that form a protective blanket wrapped around us so tight that we cannot step out to reach those in need from other walks of life.

We can switch off to the sight of death at the press of a button,

it is easy to miss the faces of desperation when the sound’s on silent.

our senses have been numbed; so anesthetized that we are no longer stunned

by the atrocities recounted on our crystal clear screens,

the vision might be high definition but we do not hear the cries for assistance from our global citizens, not even with surround sound.

And we are so disconnected from the realities of others that we are blind to

their suffering, paralysed, so overexposed to disaster and lies that we could drown in this apathy.

You see we tell ourselves that the problems on our doorsteps are not our problems,

it’s the benefit system, it’s immigration, the economy, their culture,

You see they just didn’t try as hard enough.

Yet everybody knows that the toil of Sisyphus was infinite, and where were the rewards for his endless labour?

We could make people’s load a little lighter, but we choose not too.

‘Our hands are tied’ we say in our defense, and they are tied,

tied to our phones, plugged into superficiality, charging on consumerism and wired to our egoisms.

We could put down our prisons,

free our hands to focus on the things that really matter; draw the platform a little closer, make the gap a little smaller, assist others who are weaker-

but we choose not to. The gap continues to grow and we continue on our precarious commutes, how long before the space is so great that we can no longer reach the other side?

We have a choice. We choose to remain living in our homemade prisons, watching our connections, pretending we can’t see them, pretending we can’t hear. Perhaps we do but we still remain motionless.

‘Mind the gap’ the announcement calls yet who ever paid attention to the safety warnings given by the voice from above?