VOICES FROM AFAR

Picture Courtesy: www.blogs.sacbee.com


From the first day we met,
You were so comfortable in you own skin,
I was curiousity and nerves rolled in one,
There you sat on your perch,
Smooth with a glint of shiny in your eyes,
Firm lines embracing your body from head to toe
In degrees of perfect ninety.


Not too colourful,
Neither were you dull,
You always managed blend in,
Though somewhat talkatively.


You always had something to say,
Your repertoire was quite diverse,
From music,
Politics
To drama,
You always had something to offer,
Never a dull moment when you came on.


A little boy,
Always sat at your feet,
Paying attention as you spoke,
Though I didn’t have the slightest idea
What you always spoke excitedly about,
I was rapt attention in human form nonetheless.
I enjoyed the sound of your voice,
That was enough satisfaction for me,
I understood the conversations you made,
In my own way.


Of all the different voices you could imitate,
I grew fond of a particular one,
That of Alistair Cooke,
I honestly have no idea why,
I guess the short piece of music
You always played right before speaking in that voice,
Was one I did very much enjoy.


From sunrise till set,
I always looked forward to hearing your
Many voices,
We seemed to grow on each other
Though all you did was speak for hours on end,
And I in turn listened to you for hours on end.


I remember times when growing up,
I would stare attentively at you,
With others milling around,
I’m sure they oft wondered
What I found fascinating in you,
But they let me be,
I could stare at you for hours on end,
Listening to your constantly changing voice,
Lulling me gently off to sleep.


When I woke,
Instead of see you,
All I saw were the barricades of a baby’s cot,
In those moments,
I would throw tantrums till I was
Let loose on the cold marble floor,
Then I would walk on all fours,
Back to where you sat majestically.


Years have gone by,
I can’t quite remember when you left,
Up on your throne,
Another does sit in your place today,
A tad shinier than you
With more curves,
And many buttons too.
But you are classic and timeless,
This new one’s a far cry from what you were,
You were the first to tell me of the BBC,
I enjoyed listening to Alistair Cooke
As he hosted “Letter from America”,
I miss those good ol’ days,
When a little boy was seduced by voices from afar,
Echoing through an old beige rectangular box,
Over a shortwave frequency instead of fm.
I miss listening to radio in the 1980’s,
In those days,
When you ordered radio,
You got exactly what you wanted,
Good radio with a smattering of static on the side,
These days,
If you’re lucky,
All you’ll get is different renditions of crap
Over a much shinier louder hideous looking plastic box,
With politics depressingly scrawled on both sides.