A hollow feeling
A silence gnawing
An emptiness
A loneliness
I need to talk-
But to who?
The lift man perhaps, who wishes me-
On my way out at the break of dawn,
The one who presses ‘G’
Lost in his thoughts, his eyes half closed
Up and down he goes all day
Inside the metal cage
Or to the kind, old lady who smiles a soft smile
As I pass her by
Her back to the western wall, she faces the east, her palms joined
She awaits the sun; her husband’s straddled on a wheelchair
He faces the South – watching the flight of birds
Lost in the melody of the morning matin
Maybe I should speak to the policeman who’s standing at the curb
Baton tucked under his arm
a bored look on his countenance, waiting for action
Or the other women who walk in droves
Their mouths and legs synchronizing
Their eyes follow me as I cross
A disquiet grows within me
I look down at the unending list of numbers
On the phone – so many
I have lost count of
I want to talk
But to who?
This one is busy
This here may have forgotten me
This one knows nothing about me
This here is good for the good times
But here’s one,
one that never let’s me down –
One that awaits my call
One that’s not displeased or bored, if I have nothing to say
One who thinks I do it for him
But little knows I do it for me
My thumb hovers over
On the green receiver sign
I hear the ringing
I hear a ‘Hello’ at the end of the line
Music to my ears
‘Hi pa. How are you?’
” Not too good. These are my last days”
I quarrel for I can’t change the tide
I raise my voice
I hang up in a huff
He thinks I’m angry; it’s a bluff
I’m not lonely
How can I ever be
As long as I have this number to call
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Eúnoia 
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