by Vijaya Gaur
17 posts from the banks,
5 issues of the Sportstar,
100s of pamphlets,
and about 19 feathers, and a half
Came home to a complaining, flooded mailbox,
yelling of maltreatment while I was away.
As I pulled out its baggage,
it made happy sounds to keep the traffic noise at bay.
Only when I was brushing off the dirt
did my eyes fall on a crinkled envelope.
Carefully camouflaged by leaves and feathers,
lime green in colour, all muffled up.
Something lifted my lips up, to form a smile,
and my eyes, they grew larger with ecstasy.
I bent closer to be sure of what I was seeing,
and just then, a car honked at my privacy.
I blushed, almost, hurriedly picked up the clutter,
locked the letter box, and rushed inside.
The letter still secured in my left hand,
I stood there waiting for my heartbeat to subside.
It said nothing on the cover, except for my address.
The look of it spoke that it had travelled long.
My hands, they couldn’t wait,
my mind, still hoping to guess and not be wrong.
A handmade paper, with clumsy folds,
with petals, and twigs built into its texture.
As I peeked in the envelope for more,
I saw a rose fixed with a delicate gesture.
Careful, and excited, I opened its folds,
to a scribbling, my eyes were best friends with.
Teary smiles were only concomitant
It was a hand-scribbled letter from my 6 year old kid!
The words, they dissolved into his pretty face
from the last day of my visit to him and his father.
When asked -‘What do you want for your birthday, honey?’
I had said – ‘I’d wish for a hand written letter, and a flower!‘
Pic : https://www.flickr.com/photos/83839873@N00/
