Her Waiting

she is standing on the sill of the door, she is waiting sight on the end of the going away road for the postman, she is waiting o yellow envelope you are coming hand by hand the torn old bag carries you o yellow envelope you are coming under the lamp-post by the day, by the night by the cycle, on the foot through summer to a rainy day through various village field the Postman touches your skin take a while and reads your address at last he reaches and gets your destination look, she is still standing under the moon-lit standing, breathing, crossing longest wink a dawn crow is cawing but the yellow envelope comes to her with tears! -April 23, 2019, Chattogram