Love letter

A bird on my window-sill
he flutters her tiny wings
uried under the chewed cud of time
A paper flutters into the present frame

A letter thrust into teenage hands
Unwilling to take any casual blame
The writing neat but almost Greek
I still struggle to read the name. 

Flabbergasted, I slowly realised
Trembling under the sudden onslaught.
It was a love letter from the school wrestler
The shock arrested my carefree thoughts. 

The grass was green, the cows content
Yet a hungry one sauntered near the cycle shed
efore I could act, a long, rasping tongue wrapped
and swallowed my first love letter, still unread.

The decision taken for me by the grazing angel
to let childhood linger for a longer page
Yet I wonder what if he had written in English
not in my ‘consistently failing’  third language.
Reena Prasad

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