|| The mailbox that never smiled. ||

There's a valley where houses have no name
Tell me, in that valley, do people remember their name?

12.45 at night, we are still desperate for a dream
Tell me, every night, are you comforted by your name?

A decade lost, in efforts of finding our true home
The last house we abandoned, had a mailbox with our name.

A hotel room that smells of stale biscuits and snores
Under the carpet, with a marker, I had scribbled my name.

In two bags we carry our world, our world seems so small
What is the world to us, if not for some memories and a name?

Every night the rain threatens, to dissolve my letters to you
With one arm I'm saving every word, the other is saving my name.

When we have no face to show, what's the use of saving face?
Tonight let me burn away, Nilesh will be a forgotten name.

Nilesh Mondal is an undergraduate in engineering who believes in the power of expression that poetry offers, talks to himself at times, and goes through life one day at a time.
He likes ghazals because they remind him of his childhood mornings spent listening to records of Begum Akhtar and Jagjit Singh that his mother fondly collected.