When the sun blazed the skies,
And scorched everything dry
When a whiff of breeze heaved a sigh,
An ounce of surahi's water
Brought back life,
And memories to life,
My thoughts raced back to the letters,
So dear, yet so far,
The wait,
The frustration,
The patience,
The prayers,
The pain,
The missing,
And yes, an ounce of joy.
When the mynas broke the silence
Of my heart,
Four for letters! - I cried in joy,
Like I used to then,
As if they have the powers to grant wishes.
We've forgotten it all,
The skill to try,
Lend words to feelings,
The stubborn habit of remembering
The smiles, the faces of fond ones
Before sleep laced the tired eyes.
When the death of the night
Was rattled by the creaking of the old fan,
When I'd sit up,
Up from a broken dream,
The pen would do the magic, unguided,
And beat a heart for you
And roll sketchy thoughts and all
Unto borderless sheets,
What a truly beautiful world, that was,
Where,
Missing was such a lovely feeling
And - being missed - even merrier!
When every day was about a new letter,
Or a bunch, maybe
When each letter was packed
With caring thoughts and a share of glee,
Of concern and of sweet sundry,
When you'd pen a hundred thoughts
Into an inland letter,
Or seal the unworded feelings
Gently into eager envelopes,
And glue them with lips,
Did you crave,
The way I would,
Did you tear up reading them,
The way they made me cry?
The habit never gave up on us,
Penning fleeting thoughts,
Or reading those unspoiled feelings,
Expressed weeks back,
That seemed like
Going on a journey back in time,
To feel, how it felt then,
Smile, pain, sigh, and whispers.
How lovely those times,
When letters were the feelings,
To live for,
And happiness was
What you don't get to experience today!
© Sashikant Mohanty
