Cold binary-coded ghosts

Social media,
Where we exist only as soft floating virtual footprints,
Mere transient fragments of the magnificent beings we really are...

Swimming in a sea of words and images,
Which are nothing but cold binary-coded ghosts,
So hopelessly far from reality, 
So distant from the true essence within... 

A matrix where the fragrance of paarijaat doesn't waft, 
Where you can't see the curve of smiles,
Or the nervous clenching of fists,
That scar on the arm from childhood,
The green of the veins, the gray of the hair,
The brown of the iris lighting up when sunlight hits the eye..

Where you can't hear the sound of uninhibited open-throated laughter,
The lonely sobs, hugging the tear-stained pillow on certain nights.
The imperfect humming of an old favorite song in the shower,
That anxious stammering of a rusty voice..

Where you can't feel the warmth of a cup of tea in your palms, 
The velvety touch of frangipani flowers,
And the crunch of dry leaves on the sidewalk...

In the bottomless pit of cold binary-coded ghosts, 
I wonder, what are we looking for, afterall?

For what we're consuming, we're becoming,
And slowly turning into cold binary-coded ghosts?...