phone booth
On the roadside, a phone booth—
barely visible; today it is a
Rainy day,
A man inside dialed
The numbers, anti clockwise,
Moved his lips closer to
The red phone,
Similar to a woman who came before him,
Kissing
The same spaces. Same silence. Looking outside
To me and then
Hiding his eyes looking down to the place
He has kissed before.
Is that love? There is another man
Waiting outside.
He will kiss the same place but in different time.
The man is smiling. The woman
Who came before had tears on her cheeks.
I think there is another phone booth
Just on the other side of the road.
An equal number of people have used it,
Kissing, but—
With different emotions, with different facial expressions.
I am not a romantic; I am not a poet - I don’t want to touch it.
Not at the moment, But
I have to call someone too
To someone who exists since back in time.
I have a dice. I kiss it, roll, choose -
The second phone booth.
Perhaps because I don’t know much about it.
There are fewer people in the line,
I am one of those fewer people.