Op-Ed Poetry Who RU

Published on

by Ghufran Hussain – Student Journalist

Four walls. That is all I see. 

I turn on this daunting bright screen, this virtual square our society has abruptly moved in.

It is the brightest light I have seen in a while.

My eyes have witnessed bright sights before, but that was back when I was able to glance up at the sky.

Back when the town I lived in was alive,

Back when Lysol wasn’t the trending perfume,

and back when connection traveled through touch, not a computer screen.

Nowadays, it is easy to lose connection. 

“Turn on your camera”, she said.


“I’m losing connection, professor”, I replied.

It is true, my connection to society is slowly fading, and there is no signal transmission in my head.

However, it is also a lie; my internet is pretty stable.

The professor did not hear me, but maybe I could get away with it.

The truth is, I haven’t left my bed yet.

My body and my brain haven’t come to terms with when we should get up.

So, I scroll. 

I scroll and scroll until I have compared myself to every single girl. 

I scroll and scroll until I have laughed at every single meme. 

I scroll and scroll until I catch a glimpse of myself in the camera, 

the camera that the professor once again tells me to turn on. 


I turn on my camera,

but then all I look at is myself.

I am so distracted.

I am distracted as I stare at myself and everyone else in this small virtual world.

I tried to analyze them, but I did not succeed.

A screen separates us, shutting and turning away any form of connection we try to form.

I do not know what they are like,

I do not know if they are loud or quiet,

and I cannot tell if they walk around with their headphones in; silencing the world.

I also cannot tell what they look like.

I can only see the arch of their brows, the confusion in their eyes,

and the scrunching of their forehead when they get angry or upset.

However, I cannot tell if they are blushing, or smiling with their mouths.

After all, they can smile with their eyes and not their mouths,

tricking me and everyone else,

masking their feelings about this dead society we were too alive for.

I haven’t met them in their three-dimensional form,

but I know we are alike.

Alike in a way where we all stare at the four walls,

that is all we see.