Neeraj's poems

The Voice

The phone rings,
And he takes it out,
Recognizes the number,
Wonders what's it about.

'Hello', he says,
And he hears the voice,
All of a sudden,
He's got no choice.

He stops in the way,
Out of breath,
Intoxicated,
As if on meth.

The voice,
Was once a drug for him,
Without it,
His life seemed so grim.

'Yes?', he manages,
In a weird way,
Unsure,
Of what he wanted to say.

'I'm sorry, I dialed by mistake',
It said quietly,
Sensing the awkwardness,
Quite rightly.

'Oh', he says,
Followed by some mumble jumble,
Disconnects and starts his walk,
Sad and humble..

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