Forlorn, secluded, standing in slience.
I am a piece from the past.
The man who made me was all proud
To launch my ruddy adventure.
There was a time when many a man
In uniform strode up to me.
With reverence, courage, hope and more,
He shared his deepest thought and brightest news.
I took up the task and sent his missive far away somewhere on earth.
I was the first in a long line of soldiers who toiled on land, in air and on sea.
We tarried never, in whatever weather,
And reached the loved one or stern boss always in time.
Oh, how the times have changed. Now all the excitement I see is traffic snarls with JCB's, cargo trucks, smart little cars and careless drivers.
I get now a fresh coat of dust every minute.
And that elusive Post-office Red touched me but several monsoons ago.
I am no more a landmark, no more a cheerful memory, no more a soldier much in the line of duty.
I am but a solitary postbox.
(photo: the postbox at the Army traffic signal in Victoria Layout).
