A Poem About Hellos

The first time I said hello,
Was when I picked up the phone.
And spoke into it like a swordfish,
Like a refrigerator for cold storage,
Like a bamboo in a home far away from here,
In Assam, in homes in the North East,
Where hellos do not mean distant eye contacts,
Do not mean obligatory post cards on Christmas,
Or New Years Eve,
Do not mean swordfish
born like other fishes just to breathe.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s