Letters
Some old, parched letters…
Those wet, bygone words,
which still smell anew
And so many silences,
between every line or two…
Say a lot, tell stories,
I then failed to know.
Some old, parched letters…
With or without you,
staying with me,
growing old with me,
Some becoming gray too…
Hold keys of memories,
of our secrets, dreams.
Copyright © Mandar Naik | Year Posted 2016
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