I break into writing
scribbling on pieces of paper
in the dawn of this mad hour
with an ache, carrying in my heart
to plague itself with feelings,
I thought I’d never consider.
Scribbling into this parchment recklessly
my ink is soaked with words,
that are heavy in loss of many letters;
they seem to be travelling
beyond thoughts, once,
taped, sealed and measured.
into feelings now discovered.
I’ve come in terms of my devotion;
in terms of sentiments that belong to me,
but were unaccounted for, impenetrable, from eons afore.
Drawn into a string of words
with a tinge of musical sound
mellow and raw in its truthful-ness;
exposing me to emotions tamed,
infused with amass of poetry
in love,in anger, in hurt—
they lash, bearing a cacophony of words
that are silent, rested within,
as, I begin to end my sentences—
in a period; they close,
with a pause retired,
resuming to break into
words never uttered.
– Shweta Kher