Where am I?
It was a pathetic evening
Back from a busy day
In a cold cubicle of white spreads
I settle under a white quilt
Pale and hungry...
If i wanted to break from
My aloneness, i just needed
to make a call...
'hello, reception, ' pronounced
A trained voice...
I cradle the phone
I didn't want to hear groomed voices
They're so alike and lifeless
Enough to augment the aloneness
But why the hell should i...?
The pathos of the evening
Creaked in my joints
The pair of footwear in a lonesome corner
waited for my touch...
Out in a city of clamour
hawkers, buyers, colorful displays
I walk like a mannequin
Once in shining ebony black
Once in pale cold marble whiteness
Did anyone notice me?
Did they find it strange to see
A mannequin out on the street?
Saravan Bhavan...
Idly, dosa, blah blah...
The pale hungry mannequin walked in
The belly looking eagerly...
I stuff idlies into it to satiate its growls...
'where're you? ' the voice asked
'Oh, yeah! Where am i? '
I quizzed in that conundrum of hunger on sale...
I walk back in a tube
Remote and distant
The trained world of trading
Blowing its lungs outside the tube...
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Added by Poetry Lover
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