Call

Crowds, a market, incessant traffic,
Noise all around,
Yet, your voice comes through,
Without making a single sound.

Hands press to my ear,
Only a mobile phone, I know,
Yet, not from this earth I tread.
Are the images that my eyes show.

My languid skin breathes,
Air, thick with humid sweat,
My life says hello, to me,
An appetite does every laugh whet.

Speak of friends and growing up,
And walking down the road alone,
On the dark street, crying out loud,
A car's bright headlight shone.

Silent every now and then, wait,
For me to say, I speak,
Of things which prattle in my head,
Straight ahead, or twisted oblique.

Bells in the distance clang,
As you speak of prayers true,
The sidewalk ends on a mound of sand,
Tell me for sure, who are you?

Said and unsaid things remain,
Hanging in ether, left to dry,
Slowed time picks up life,
Happy faces begin to cry.

Friend, pal, and something more,
Impatient, impertinent, I, can't see,
Beyond what every word ever wanted to say,
Waiting for that call, eternally.