The immaculate impulse when admired <br />by the glimpses of the warmth <br />the sun in its scarlet red <br />wakes the delight from its last night <br /> <br />when overwhelmed by the thrills <br />the novels of last night as I remember <br />yet i looked through the attic window <br />waiting the postman to deliver my letter <br /> <br />the postman when slowly enters the gate <br />holding all the radiant beams of sweet words <br />when cohered within by the complete embrace <br />the envelope as if of the parchment bag in virtual colors <br /> <br />yet with baited breath as I opened the door <br />the golden voices seemingly resounding <br />as if being engulfed by the pigeon cage within <br />the painted paper made in- the art of love <br /> <br />yet I do swear by the truth when silhouetted <br />the jingling tunes of goldmorh plant <br />across its verses even when untold to the bailey <br />whispers me and my sportive silence beneath <br />thoroughly latching on to the last dream<br /><br />Dr subhendu kar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/last-night-s-letter/
