The inferno within my heart pervades over the love letters you write for me,
In a cauldron of smelting pot they broil, figments of my mind I give to you
Stirring to make up ingredients;
I taste of you
Tracing black pen’s ink,
they outline words of endearment—
In hushed voices, they wrap me
in woven subconscious-dreams,
that are often made of you and me
Your letters,
fissure inhibitions in my mind and conquer to titillate me
over words that are now slightly run over
Making their search,
to find me at my lowest;
My mind travels to where your letters take me
Surrounded by an island, enclosed,
Stranded by you and your dead promises; to that of a magician’s delusional entice
You leave me enchanted with your letters,
melting my heart to its lowest
You stay,
as I break into this beautiful memory you once gave me
Chiding an uproar of tumultuous wave to silence;
that ripples chaos by the ocean
The inferno within my heart conflagrates
Oh, what a rebel this heart can be
Ruffed by its edges— is the shoreline,
Smooth crippled pages are its feet
I preserve your letters,
placing in an ornate wooden box of things I hold onto;
Agile in their weight and sense of you
Pledging them forever to stay and be.
– Shweta Kher
IT'S POETRY. IT'S HISTORY. 
There is a great fascination in communication by letters and I think you capture that mystery and try to make sense from the view of the recipient. A lovely piece of work 🙂
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I cannot agree more. Words are powerful enough to move you in ways one cannot fathom or deny. Thank you for your kind words, Sir. You only motivate me. 😊
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Sometimes, crying is the only way your eyes speak when your mouth just can’t explain how broken your heart is.
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Indeed. True beyond words and wrenching. 😊
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