The dusty roads, barren and bleak;
This serene village in shady trees,
In noon time, the buzzing bees;
Homes faded in padded fences.
Waiting for such a very long time;
In hot mud, my bare feet burns,
I do hear him across that field;
As his cycle horn, it does ring.
My rustic heart sings in true joy;
When his blue uniform I do see,
News from my unseen beloved;
That postman brings me mails
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