a letter...never posted

'Can you hear how under my steps
Dry leaves get trampled, as I tread?
Can your hear through my call
How fishermen sing at the end of their day's toil?
Can you listen how life still flows by
When for me your tears go dry?'
She chewed the end of her pen
And thought of by the evening post it be sent...
 So she neatly folded the letter
Wrote his name visibly better
On the white envelope
And  went out to it drop...
She walked briskly through the crowd
Her eyes reddened under the shroud...

There the box stood like a red post
There should she drop her letter of course...
'But what is the use of this exercise
When love had met with its demise?'
She thought just before dropping it
Through the narrow tiny black slit...
'Why I wrote it first of all then?
Why? answer me?' she asked her soul with pain...
Standing before the red post box
She thought winding her vagrant locks...

She stood there...not only that day
Every evening you find there her may...
If at that appointed hour you pass
That street post box,you'll surely find that lass...

Last evening when I went there
Overheard the story of her
Her lover went away with a woman
Leaving her a black curse, an omen...
She had lost all her wits
Every evening the red post box she meets...
There she stands with a letter in hand
There you find her like a ghostly statue stand...
The crowd, the horns of vehicles never deter
Her to come to the red post box with a never-posted letter...









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