An SMS Poem
(: but not in SMSese :)
People saved love-letters, once;
mementoes, tied up with a ribbon
or a shoe-lace.
Souvenirs for solitary moments,
opened, smiled at, re-bound.
Or, more often, forgotten,
to be found 27 years later
when spring-cleaning.
I held your words too,
in their 160-character slices,
abbreviated, condensed, concentrated.
I held them close, took them everywhere –
added more, agonising over which one to delete,
because the phone card could take no more –
took them out to read
in strange, lonely places,
in crowded parties and busses,
in moments of joy
and sadness,
recalling special moments,
admissions made hurriedly.
I held your words next to me,
possessively, desperately
(one can't be parted
from one's phone these days,
which makes a good alibi),
unable to let go.
I guess I knew
I'd accepted that you
wouldn't be coming back
when I deleted them.
One.
By.
One.
[There's an older version of this here.]
People saved love-letters, once;
mementoes, tied up with a ribbon
or a shoe-lace.
Souvenirs for solitary moments,
opened, smiled at, re-bound.
Or, more often, forgotten,
to be found 27 years later
when spring-cleaning.
I held your words too,
in their 160-character slices,
abbreviated, condensed, concentrated.
I held them close, took them everywhere –
added more, agonising over which one to delete,
because the phone card could take no more –
took them out to read
in strange, lonely places,
in crowded parties and busses,
in moments of joy
and sadness,
recalling special moments,
admissions made hurriedly.
I held your words next to me,
possessively, desperately
(one can't be parted
from one's phone these days,
which makes a good alibi),
unable to let go.
I guess I knew
I'd accepted that you
wouldn't be coming back
when I deleted them.
One.
By.
One.
[There's an older version of this here.]
Labels: poetry
Selected by zigzackly |
19:53 |
2 Comments:
i've myself done this before.
just needing your words and no more.
woke early to substitute your alarm chyme with my message.
at night, under the solitaries of my sheet i would text you a passage.
letters became calls, calls took form of message
messages were replaced by forwards..
now you are only a mirage.
wish my memory were a flash drive.
i could clear every text of ur silence's jibe.
So true. We are saying more but conveying less, corresponding more ut communicating less.
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