The Postman Poem by Prabhat Kumar Sahoo

I count, if not wrong
I have lived
Twenty one thousand five hundred noons
And some four thousand out of it
Only waiting the postman.

I know not, how painful was it
How important was he in my life
What blissful to listen encore bells
Of his old bicycle passing through
Or a sweet knock at my door
By his sweaty, dirty, but beautiful fingers!

A blue colour envelop in my name
Written by the known pink fingers
Oh! what was he for me in that moment
One thousand crores lottery in his hand
My most faithful friend in the world
Expect nothing, so simple, so honest
But so lovely my postman.

I still remember you my friend
In this e-age, your missing bell resound
I still wait with eager
A blue colour envelop in your hand.

(In memory of the noble friend, my old postman)