Though ink-business days-
The days of long, long letters
And long, long waiting-are gone,
I keep waiting like an ancient bride
For a brown cover, which I know,
Will bring an emotional tide.
I know, it will talk about many things:
The stolen cows and old dead oxen,
Ruined rabbi crops and untimely rain.
Sometimes it takes me
Hundred years back
And I forget that I live
In the jet and pepsi age.
I see oxen, plough and spade
Still herald the day
Followed by labour march
And breakfast carrying mothers,
Sisters, wives or children.
It reminds me of the time
I spent my days in sublime:
Rainy days and cloudy nights,
Gloomy mornings and evenings bright;
Talk and walk, dusk and dawn,
Joy and mirth, bigger than crown.
