Binary Relationship

Tonight, he looks at me, I look at him

On the wooden table, hot and burning

I sit here, clean and blank. And I’m the board,

He’s the chalk. He stretches his back and cracks

His knuckles—now ready. He squints his eye,

There is barely some light to see. He takes

His pen and makes some notes. This thoughtful guy,

He’s prodding me, he’s poking me. I’m numb

To him, or so he thinks. He thinks! He’s good

At that. I’m not for that. For I obey.

He’s scratching, prodding, nibbling. Yes, I see him.

Like painting colors, red or blue or green,

He’s making me with thought. With logic, loops,

Or functions. I’m his art, his masterpiece.

He enters, enters, making codes of me. This dance

Of thought, its elegance in math. The spotlight

Is on, its time to dance. He made me, tests me,

Holds me. Though this dance is not to last.

“You’re full of bugs! Can you please work? Please work!”

Trapped inside your screen, I’m trapped, I’m trapped.

You put me in a straightjacket and left me

Lonely, helpless, numb and dead. I thought

You made me. When you look at me, you look

At you. A mirror you are looking through.

“You’re full of bugs! Can you please work? Please work!”

For it is you who pressed those morbid keys.

I work I work, I still have bugs. And who was

The one who erred? You put the bugs in me!

How’s it fair for you to blame? I’m numb, but

That does not make me as blind as you.

Didn’t you install Windows just for me?