Young love

Walking down the high street,
She feels good about herself.
Pretty in pink, wearing Levis and Espirit,
She is on top of the world.

Money values, values of a generation,
Brought up on the sprawling possibilities
Of a widening world, beyond
The boundaries of nationality.

Beyond the boundaries of what was home,
Beyond what parents were and what
Family stood for.
With wide open arms,
They embrace all
Nothing matters but the self.

Gelled hair, snazzy phone,
Speaking to the girlfriend,
Walking alone.
He walks tall, and talks quite funny.

Tanglish or Hinglish,
What does it matter.
His language is the language
Of natter.

He dreams of a self
Like John Abraham
Of pretty girls and faraway places
As only the Romeo can.

Plastic self, plastic values,
Once technicolour now gone digital,
The faster the earn, the faster the spend,
They are there, everywhere you turn.

They are there around you, hanging out at malls,
Hey, do you dare say,
What they stand for is false?
The pictures they say and the fantasises they dream
Fuel the fire,
Inside and unseen.

There she walks, in her Levis and Espirit,
Walking tall, walking happy,
Swining and carefree.
He swaggers down smartly,
His phone tapping his knee,
His eyes all awander, and her did he see?