Once upon a time,

I had a Contact list,

Of just a few names,

In a small black book,

Of a few friends,

With whom I had parted,

A long time ago,

And have treasured their,

Numbers more carefully,

Than real treasures.

Now I have a contact list,

More than a mile long,

Of every person I meet,

Whether I want it or not,

My number is taken,

And their number is given.

Sometimes when I go through,

My contact list,

I dnt even remember,

who this person is,

Whether I should keep it,

Or delete it,

Oh heck,

What if I may need it,

So the name continues,

To sit in my list.

Sometimes when,

I go through,

My contact list,

Each name brings back,

The times shared together,

The times when a particular number,

Was the most dialled one,

Was the most received one,

With much joy and thrill.

Sometimes when I go through,

My contact list,

I wonder with sadness,

When did I become ,

Only a number in a contact list,

Only an occasional call my way.

Why may you ask ,

Don’t you make a call?

Well …dnt want to get in the

Way of my friend,

Who has moved on,

To much dearer contacts,

I may say….

And that is the sad truth,

Of many of the names,

In our contact list.

© 2016 Haseena Dudekula

Pic courtesy:Personal