The bicycle halts with a call,
I raise myself with joy,
The postman glees to deliver,
His innocence opens with a smile,
The sight of his aged khaki,
Holding the orderly letter bunch,
All invite my eager eyes,
When I accept the yellow card,
I surrender my thoughts,
I wait to gaze the card,
It's Post Card from my grandma,
Inked with eternal love,
Self styled alphabets,
Her cursive style I cherish,
Neatly filling the space,
While every word connects,
They spell abundant affection,
Though immersed in British flavour,
Her soul always remains with Chennai,
Her fingers on...