Tones Poem by Nikhil Parekh

When I spoke to a child; my tone was as innocuous as the nimble and newborn rabbit,

When I spoke to the politician; my tone had profound traces of cunnigness; tinges of skillful imagination blended with each word,

When I spoke to the reprimanded burglar; my tone was acrid and harsh; trying to petrify the daylights from his eyes,

When I spoke to the bartender; my tone was voluptuously surreal; demanding him to serve me with delectable pegs of scarlet wine,

When I spoke to the Boss of the Company; my tone was overwhelmingly polite and splendid; flattering him each instant to secure my job,

When I spoke to the taxi driver; my tone was rustic and wandering; instructing him to drift me deep into the hills; poignantly embrace the winds of nature,

When I spoke to the Scientist; my tone had a sea of mysticism and enigma; intriguing him with the dozens of bizarre ideas; circulating rampantly through my mind,

When I spoke to the doctor; my tone radiated with robust and rubicund health; and the air that diffused from my mouth had a piquant odor of raw antiseptic,

When I spoke to the photographer; my tone was enchanting and replete with tumultuous euphoria; enticing him to capture the most mesmerizing of my pose,

When I spoke to the insane terrorists; my tone was barbarically acrid; and I blurted out every possible abuse prevalent on the planet; vehemently condemning them for their scores of misdeeds,

When I spoke to the teacher in the school; my tone was docile and completely submissive; pretending to be a diligent student; when infact I was most mischievous of the entire batch,

When I spoke to those orphaned on the streets; my tone was sympathetic and comforting; earnestly wishing them all the prosperity that ever hung in the air,

When I spoke to the washerman; my tone was as slippery as soap; as I gave him crisp orders to annihilate the last bit of dirt adhering to my shirt,
When I spoke to the man-working deep in the mines; my tone was in the form of a reverberating echo; trying to blast into his ears the same tunes he was used to; all day and night,

When I spoke to the wildly screeching mad man; my tone was sonorous and domineering; trying to pacify all the false apprehensions; taking their toll unnecessarily on his life,

When I spoke to the dog loitering aimlessly on the streets; my tone was a hoarse bark; trying to communicate with him better; in the only language he imbibed and understood,

When I spoke to my beloved; my tone was bubbling with passion and unprecedented exhilaration; as I tried to ignite the flames of my romance; with infinite times the intensity into her persona,

When I spoke to my mother; my tone resembled the boisterous chimpanzee; totally relieved of mundane and worldly tensions,

But when I tried to speak to God; there erupted no tone of mine at all; I stood transfixed and wholesomely mute in front of his divine demeanor; with my head bent in meek obeisance; and my soul drowned in the melody of his omnipotent tone forever.