Mail For You

The receptionist called a few minutes back

Informing me about a mail for me.

The calendars weren’t marked and,

There wasn’t any celebration nearby. received 

The only mail I ever got was a

Carefully chosen card at the gift store

Signed off with love

From my grandparents

Two thousand miles away

On my birthday.

Today was not my birthday.

It was a brown envelope

With stamps from cities unexpected

And a slanting handwriting that seemed familiar.

I carefully slit it open

To find a postcard.

They were like the postcards

Gramps showed that he’d send to his folks

During holidays and celebrations.

It was hand-painted in bright colours

With figures from the seventies

And three types of font

Covered in pictures of localities.

“Greetings from


Wish you were here.”

I flip it over

To find the same slanting handwriting.

“Your pending trip and I are stealing you for the weekend.

The flight’s tomorrow morning. Itinerary is in your email.

See you soon.”

I flipped and stared at the postcard

Over and over again

Till I had it completely memorized.

I brought it closer,

Tracing the paints and ink.

It smelt of a love

You found in

Postcards and mails.

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