Yield

by Ngo Binh Anh Khoa

Oh, see them now,
with their heads bowed and eyes peeled,
all submissive in posture,
their gazes ablaze with awe and focus
upon their gleaming smartphones–
the tiny temples of their worship
designed to fit in the palms of their hands,
their pupils burning with the hungry fire
to consume and devour
the rapid teachings of
their living idols on the other side
of the glaring screens.

Oh, see them now,
with their ears sealed shut by the words
taken as immutable truths,
propagated by those they consider
superior to themselves–
the lofty, untouchable monuments
at which they can only marvel from afar
but towards which they can never reach
willingly deaf to all else except for the creeds
expounded by those vocal manifestations
that they have chosen to worship, and
to whom they devote their time and faith.

Oh, see them now,
with their minds confounded and condemned
unto the spiraling abyss created to provoke
their own voracious pursuits of meaning–
the endless wanderings of the lost,
the hopeful, and the resigned,
all yearning for change and release
from the crushing clutches of the mundane,
which they, through repeated revelations,
have come to view as mediocre.
Oh, see how they yield the reigns of their lives
to their idols preaching from the other side.