The hair dryer ad
in the magazine
grabbed me by my hand
and took me down
the serpentine lanes,
mossy, dark, to
the X-O barber shop
where I used to sit
wrapped in
a white sheet
enjoying all the
attention the man
had for me while
styling my hair
to the then
trend; Bachan cut,
and the occasional
warmth on the nape
of my neck as the
hair dryer blown
warm air.
Everything has
gone into oblivion;
the attention, warmth
of the blowing air…
for there remains
just a few strands
upon my head
that neither deserves
attention nor warmth.
5 comments:
a poem out of a bald head. woohooo. i like i like. :)
Sumi: Thank you so much!
i was imagining you in Bachan cut...
this new style suits you better, sort of like Shakespear! even the beard is the same!!! take a look in the mirror!
Venu Chettan: Unpardonable, unpardonable. The bard must be turning in his grave.
ha ha ha!!!
but you look lovely. don't bother about the bald head. remember, in these days we can always have the hair fixed if we want to.
nicely written poem, Arun.
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