The Letterbox

At pen : Indrakshi Guha

*The letterbox*

The red letterbox

suck to the beige walls

tells me evoking tales

of the memories I tugged in there for so long.

The letterbox is a jar of

broken love notes, Polaroid pictures, warm hugs, dubonnet smelling kisses, undashed hopes, tears from my eyes and sobs from my throat that fly free in the sky.

It told me that,

the love I collected for you tasted,

like the innocence of a two year old staring the dramatic cloud puffs travel from left to right in a blued sky,

Like the blackbottom pies mom served for breakfast on a misty morning,

Like the blind, locked and doorless corridor of happiness in my heart waiting to open up and dance in the wild,

Like the rush of a fleeting twilight sleep that blows off suddenly after sipping a cup of strong espresso,

Like the fresh strands of breeze between the lips of two star - crossed lovers kissing under the moonless sky on a familiar hilltop,

Like the singed omelettes cooked by the poor potter man for his daughter's lunchbox,

Like the enticing gardenias in my garden strewing its intoxicating odour in the summer breeze,

Like the tempting fountain under the distant purple sky spurting its shower of dribbles on a Valentine night,

Like the hesitant air between an old school romantic scooterist and his round and ruddy wife he fell immediately in love on the day of their wedding

Like the sudden inrush of adrenaline when the next door geek heard Radha sing,

Like the inflated smile on the face of the flower girl who bought a candy like the marzipan fruit for her little brother when all her flowers got sold,

Like the vague dreams which suddenly dies out with the loss of a lover,

Like the reflective mornings after a heartbreak,

Like the small gifts ribbobed with letters you sent me on special birthday eves

But now,

the letter box has turned into a graveyard,

the letterbox is now the relic of a dead lover,

the letterbox has blackened like a funeral

and when I stand near it,

It chants your name - like a prayer, a mantra.

The last time I touched it,

was to receive your goodbye letter,

But all byes are foggy and painful with nothing good in it,

So I left my heart in a desolate and barren land

just the way you did,

Perhaps,

the grief in me is so full

that one day it will splosh and submerge my heart.

and that is the moment,

I will vow to love you forever

and desert my heart in a desolate land

Just like the way you did.

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