Tel-a-Screen

Tel Aviv — city of sun,
of chaos, coffee, cardio — fun!
But something’s off, a tragic twist:
We walkers walk… but don’t exist.

Zombie-texting through the breeze,
dodging dogs and bikes with ease.
Heads down, thumbs up — holy trance,
WhatsApp love, pretend romance.

Ibn Gvirol? A war-zone fielded.
One ping! — and common sense is yielded.
They stop mid-step — to post, to type,
then curse the curb that swiped their hype.

Scooters swerve, baristas scream,
dogs tangle leashes in dreamy steam.
The sidewalks glow, a screen parade —
each face lit bright, each soul half-fade.

Oh Tel Aviv, my salty muse,
you flirt, you sweat, you rarely lose —
so why, my love, must every stroll
be guided by that glowing hole?

You build startups, art, and sass,
espresso shots with rocket gas,
but can’t you walk from here to there
without a screen to prove you care?

Remember flirting eye to eye,
not emojis passing by?
Remember sunsets, hot and red,
not filtered pink inside your head?

So here’s my shout — not soft, but sleek:
Eyes up, Tel Aviv — this week!
See the sky, the sea, the crowd,
make this city look up proud.

‘Cause texts can wait —
that falafel’s hot now.
Oy the moment’s gone now.
The crapping pigeon’s flying anyhow.

So walk awake, reclaim your street,
the rhythm’s pulsing ‘neath your feet.
Heads up, beauties — stay human, keen —
you’re in Tel Aviv, not Tel-a-Screen.