Dear Isabel,

Like many letters written by me to you,

Which got never posted

This will also perhaps not see 

The Post box and perhaps be wasted.

But then I know you are still hoping… 

That someday from my land will arrive the letter,

That will tell you how we both evolved and talk about days we had seen together

From our days of innocence supreme

To experiences which we both loved,

Time will tell if we were right or wrong

But as long as cuckoo sings a song

Every time when spring will tiptoe quiet

Into our hearts in mornings bright

I know you will cherish my memory

In your treasured chamber of heart

I know you will, like me, weave a story

And let it float away in the first strong gush

When monsoon will to your town rush.

Till then let us think and ruminate 

Days of yesteryears which we passed 

So happy, those days – dry and wet

Till the season of our youth did last.