The rain in the city is not over yet, it looks there won't be a respite for the rest of the day
but a heart, filled with old love, is beating beneath you.
Then, against the weather you go to a mall at the downtown
where you buy a memory
and you bind it up with years of love
and then have it sent via the post office;
It will reach the destination in twenty days
You keep on counting; someone
close to your heart will listen it tick for years - you are all smile.
But what happens if you discover one day the token of love
Being discarded, or some stranger wearing it?
I know what happens: You tend to remember the fever
that lay you in bed for a week or more
After hustling to the post office in the rain.
The unconditional love
flowing like river!
You also remember a shadow sitting in the classroom
Or walking along the riverside collecting woods
And grazing cattle and bringing home water in a vessel from the tap.
What next? - Oh God! it hurts now, it hurts forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes, we are still sending our information through the post office, though the developed world is so developed in IT. Nice poem to read!