A Boy Poem by Naveed Khalid

He is our boy, a whiz-kid
of the Hal computer,
but we can only see him
on the screen,
through his rose-colour'd glasses;
but he thinks he knows more than we do:
he must be stunned by the printer's devil
in the mirror as we arrived;
yet we wonder what he is doing down there,
maybe picking the scraps of the scroll
to put them back in the black box;
or his girlfriend deserted him,
a mere break-off, whatever!
I think he left his holy ghost back home,
for one more in hope to be Elia's patient,
along the vast Arabia Stony desert:
a bout of sea-sickness hangs
by the loose ends of a string
to his shirt, to his boat;
for when he left he broke the remote,
stampeded under his feet,
until the signals from the tower,
dot-dot-dot...dash-dash-dash,
trail out of his head,
all data is lost, crashed to the floor,
broke like him, his dream a vapour,
and there he is on the screen,
it hurts him no more.


(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2012.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Tuesday, February 21,2012 2: 51: 34 PM

* Elia's patient