By Preety Khanna
The love on pages, once called letters,
Not mere words, but silent confessors.
A wait, a hope, a lingering ache,
Days spent yearning, hearts awake.
The welcome sound of footsteps near,
The postman’s knock—joy sincere.
A trembling hand, a knowing smile,
A message held across the miles.
Reading lines, then feeling more,
Between the words, a world in store.
A hide-and-seek of hearts in ink,
Each pause, a breath, a space to think.
The unsaid, unspoken, hope by hope,
A thread of love in words eloped.
Folded papers, soft yet strong,
Carrying echoes, carrying song.
Slow they came, yet deep they stayed,
A touch in ink that never swayed.
How beautiful, those distant days,
So far in miles, yet close always.