Poem By Lalay Allan
The days of writing letters are gone
Just the by- gone days of childhood,
Piles of envelops are still laid on the shelves at a stationery store,
And the mail-boxes simply beautify our gardens as gnomes
All day they stare at us shamefully being dusty and pale in their shabby look.
The pages of the writing pads are left blank
Cornered among the old newspapers,
The postcards are buried under the rusty steel almirah
That is placed on an uneven floor,
Or could best be utilized as some door-stoppers.
The phones are disappeared from the side tables
Of a bed room or a family space;
They may be lying here and there;
Being cordless and mobiles they often have no trace.
Albums and negatives have become antique
But the soft copies are too soft to replace
As they're deleted when they ain't liked,
Can the moments really be removed which are unique?
Skype and Face Book have taken over
And perform the duties of phones, mails and photos as a combination
They are dominating our feelings and values,
All they do is to drive us away from our precious memories and notion.
I still wait for an air-mail or a post-card
Or for a tiny view-card with an amazing view;
Just the way my dad did eagerly,
I still run for the call to pick up
Just the way my mum rushed to
Say "Hello' to her beloved ones affectionately.
Alas! I can't dial the same number,
Or pick up a call from the same,
Or send a letter to the very address,
Or open one arrived from the same
That I belonged to once upon a time……..