Your letter is full of the fragrance of your love.
Its every word is like a kiss,
Its every line is encircling me in warm embrace.
Your throbbing heart has come to me flying
In the form of this piece of paper.
All that you have ever tried to conceal from me
Shines through these lines.
Here, a drop of tear had fallen down
From your eyes.
Here, you had turned
And looked apprehensively towards the door.
Why this big dash in the middle?
Did your saddened face
Bend over the paper at this place ?
And does not this comma speak out loudly,
You had, out of modesty,
Stopped here for a while ?
What do these incomplete sentences say?
Why had you been so cautious
In cutting these lines?
This crimpled paper,
Full of the sweet scent of your hair,
It has passed several nights beneath your pillow
In anguished indecision.
This is not a full stop,
Now you are resting your cheeks on your elbow
And emerging out of your signature in the end,
It is you, who is looking at me smilingly.