Wednesday, February 6, 2008


Only the arial script
On his notepad marks him .
Typing, typecasting
He dwells in the delirium.

In the bright background
Of a virtual canvas
Dark stories are told
The hills and the morn are typed
Smiles are worded
And tears are metered

Oblivious and lost
In the clatter of the keys
He types away the world around.

Later, a tree from the rainforest
Would carry his message
Well typecasted
In laser print.

1 comment:

Prashanth said...

The last stanza is the punch as it always is in your musings.. :)