Over the Line


The phone rang while I was at my desk
     I picked it up
I heard the voice on the other end of the line
     It was beautiful
It wasn’t the words that were spoken, nor the way they were said
     It was simple, silky.
But I couldn’t say all I wanted to say; I fell short

I can see the eyes, bright and beautiful, sparkling
     They pierce me
I look up to the stars, I always do; but now I ponder
     I think of her.
Does she stare at the moon at night? The stars?
     Like me?
Somehow I don’t think so, I know so, part of me…
…still hopes.

And now I see that flower again. I love that flower.
     Surrounded in blackness, flowing.
I can even see it in the darkness of night. Yellow, amber, glowing
     It creates a smile
I know who put it there, I can see the hand picking it
     Placing it. Delicate fingers.
And so I speak over the line, but I say all the wrong words.


-Rajeev Mishra (29.07.02)