With the mobile in hand
almost through the day,
on call from a friend
asking about my well being,
another from a relative
seeking guidance to fix
a marriage proposal,
the third one from my staff
asking for a loan, so I go on
talking, talking all the time
until my throat becomes dry
my voice goes down.
I lose track of the one
and the other, giving advice
to the wrong person, who pauses
for a while, a little bewildered.
I clear my throat, realize
my fault, manage with
a guffaw, I exclaim “oh! it is—
it was —“with a long drawl
the person drops the call
I continue to air my views
into the vacuum, gesticulating
feverishly.
Gosh ! In a split of a second
my fingers turn numb, the mobile
crashes down, luckily on the bed,
a silent fall ,out goes the connection,
down comes my arm lifeless.
Not longer I experience a shooting
pain around my shoulder blade
travels through the arms, pinches
the nerves, the wrist loses action
the palm remains dead,. The mobile
comes to life, rings uninterruptedly.
My left hand dares not pick the gadget.
Left is sensible than right.
Meenas Poems 