Stop reading this.
Are you still reading?
Then you are clearly in need
of some assistance,
which I will now provide
with great reluctance and small hope.
Begin by hiding your phone
in the middle of the books
you bought but never intend to read,
those impressive hardcovers
that suggests a person you might have been
in some other life.
Or treat it like a jenga block
buried in the centre of a pile,
the kind that, when removed,
brings everything else down with it,
which is exactly what your phone
does sometimes doesn’t it?
Are you still reading?
Then try the more dramatic options
place it in a rat trap as bait,
or take a flight, request the middle seat,
slide the phone underneath,
and let aviation design do the rest
Or imagine, if you would,
that you are on a bomb disposal team,
thirty minutes left on the timer,
the building must be evacuated
will you still check your notifications
or will you save everyone?
Are you still reading?
Of course you are.
So close your eyes
(after you finish this poem, naturally),
and wait for the next notification to arrive
the way one waits for the next train
Listen as it breaks the silence.
Notice how the silence
was the larger room all along,
and the notification, merely a small disturbance
passing through it,
the way a bird passes through a sky
You stopped reading, didn’t you?
You didn’t.
The phone is still in your hand.
But something in you is already
somewhere else,
and that, my friend, is enough sometimes.
NaPoWriMo Day 27 prompt – Last but not least, here’s today’s (optional) prompt. Start by reading Robert Fillman’s poem, “There should always be two.” Now, write your own poem in which all the verses contain the same number of lines (whether couplets, triplets, quatrains, etc.) and in which you give the reader instructions of some kind.

2 responses to “[590] How to Live Without a Phone”
Ahhh, a boy after my own heart. I’m encouraged now to close my lap top and paint the rest of the day, read my Bible, pray, and contemplate, my very own individualized thoughts :0) Thanks for the blessing!
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What a beautifully crafted nudge toward presence, Rahul. The way you blend humor, gentle confrontation, and real tenderness—especially in “the silence was the larger room all along”—is a quiet kind of magic. This poem doesn’t scold; it invites, and that’s rare and generous. Thank you for writing it.
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