The Call Poem by Sutapa Chaudhuri

I can call anybody now.
All have their numbers listed.
Phonebooks also at easy access.
But there's no one to call.
Somehow I'm still searching
lost in a maze
the jungle of names
too easy perhaps.
Even without a reading glass
my naked eyes still make out
the smallest of prints.
That very print seems blurred
washed out of existence.
The directory at war with life.
I pick up the leaden handset,
press the buttons one by one,
the limbs freeze,
the heart soars in expectation-
the apathetical beep, cold, metallic,
infuriating
jar my nerves,
hungry for a little answering warmth.
Listless, the chasm yawns deep
only a dull, dead,
dark silence reigns.