Call-Centre
1

‘Sir' often she calls me,
And ‘madam' her I do call;
Hence sweet talk continues in amity,
Though neither knows none at all.

Her voice's sweet enchanting melody
Comes from far-away phone,
Rings repeatedly within me,
When I stand or sit here alone.

The mind forbids and my path obstructs,
But still I am pushed by restless heart;
And an innocent soul suffers a lot
Amid the war of head and heart.

2
She in my sweet memory dwells,
Although physically she is unknown to me;
Her sweet voice's magic spells
Often hunt me overwhelmingly.

My thoughts, I hope, might be with her,
As hers do float reminiscently within me;
Neither has she seen me ever,
Nor do I visualize her feminine beauty.

Still works a force of unseen line
Between her and me, the two aliens;
I am pulled by a voice, soft and feminine,
And she might be by my coarseness of man.

Rajpal Singh

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