The Postman

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Cycling crooked on cobbled ways,

Jingling metal, tinkling bells to another May,

Buttoned in uniform, the postman rides away,

Through coughing houses, withering crude,

The wailing Mistress of Longing, “Wait, take us too”,

Through old aberrant grills,

Locked in greenhouses of mediocrity,

Combed and robed into a stranger with the happy look,

Desire’s young labour plead freedom true,

Glimpses of shadows drooping out of the balcony,

Spitting out rusty lessons, throwing up sanity,

Postures on windows, miniatures once, then magnified,

One by one, they all disappeared for their seeds to re-appear,

Only altered the tone, rang the same wails,

Familiarly helpless beamed through grills old, stares new,

His spectacles caught passing reflections all,

For messages unstamped, he could never spare moments few,

He’d kept himself busy, chose to breathe important all the while,

Probably, he’d always known he would soon run out of time,

Till this day, he has served focused blind,

Could divert him none, could distract him none,

When the witch cried, he’d never looked back,

He made it alive to the gallows of Innovation,

Now, at his ceremony of Extinction,

He stands broad-shouldered, proud and firm,

Done with flashing his dutiful spine,

Lands a wreath on the grave of the Telegram,

Kindles lamps of a billion memories, nationwide,

Bows in front of the evergreen Goddess of Change,

Then, wears his golden swim suit, holds on to his pulse,

Ready for the plunge into the quicksand of history,

Into those blue waves of time, he leaps out of sight…

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Debaroon’2013

(This post is dedicated to the dying postal service in India.  The 163 year-old telegram services permanently closed down on the night of July 14, 2013. For more, visit: http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/163-year-old-telegram-service-to-close-forever-at-9pm-today/articleshow/21067075.cms)

 

 

 

Image Credits:

http://hdrcreme.com/photos/7150-Kolkata-Alley

http://www.flickr.com/photos/s_w_ellis/4161322283/

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