The Gramophone Record Poem by Somanathan Iyer

Long ago, more than decades five ago
In our village even before
radios came in vogue
surroundings reverberated
with sounds from gramophone
boasted an elderly man
a self proclaimed rich
for bringing the gramophone
by selling his produce
made from sugarcane
kids we were and
strange it was for us
on hearing the music
we flocked his house
the black discs with
spiral grooves rotating
in stipulated velocity
and a needle running
over it from outwards
and sound emanating
from a trumpet like instrument
everything appeared
beyond our imagination
the only drawback
we felt was the music played
was not our choice