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


Love happens,
not once but more
Don’t be played
by its romantically crafted devotement—
Wrenching your mindless gullible heart,
for it to prance with frolic and merriment

Imbelice heart!
You efface the red flags—which signal you out of the blindfolded affair
You refuse;
to coil into this pleasure of knowing what it feels like to be needed
Supporting the blinds you suffer from;
a known, love at first sight malady
A garden of red roses to plant your deary dreams—
for every fantasy to stem and seed

Tender foolish heart!
You bundle into this fascination you pick out for yourself
Believing it to be the only arrangement
In your timid imagination,
is the favour you do yourself

Clamors over the peices that break your chest;
heavily seething of resentment
Swearing never to be mended

the perfect cure for this contusion
Hurrying to rebound with fondness,
you recuperate this torn wounded heart
Believing it to be, the only source of reparation

fills the gaps it leaves you with—
pouring affection from other crevices
What shatters your illusion
stitches your heart whole again;
Showing you mercy in pain
So, much so that,
You wait to fall in love
not once but again.
-Shweta Kher


The winds that gallivant across the salty seas get me high,
I immerse myself into this profound happy place,
subdued emotions drowing me—
unfathomably to a place
one that is ecstatic,
by the name of illusion I weave

Awakening myself in a lucid dream
I find myself in a reverie—
bylanes and cabins that pass through scented flowers
which make way for a lovely home
My heart blooms,
over the freshness of their sight
and fragrance that carries me to a land far unknown

I stay here for as long as I can
it breaths to me
The freedom I’ve not known
Resigning to my own calling,
I belie and run around in circles
submitting to the figment of my mind; a peice reserved
I elude from this morbid reality
transcending borders
and, here’s where I often nestle
in a labyrinth of my own chimera
A strange peacefulness takes ahold of me

This heavenly abode—
a creature of my mind
embraces me warmly,
in a comfortable space and zone
lifting my spirits high
I float and sit on the clouds made of cotton candy
enjoying the candescent colours of sunlight as they fall on me,
The naked air giggles and mumbles its musings playfully
It tingles and plays with my hair
blustering over a calm breezy day as it proposes to be
Resting myself,
I reside in this haven
A fortress of own invent and imagination
This is what I am,
It is what I shall ever be.

– Shweta Kher


Crimson red soaked in a glass of wine,
you flavour the moods of everlasting longingness,
with a heart so inanely simple and generous
I remember you in my tipsy appearances

Strands of gold, you dazzle and shine,
never shying away from the charisma you wear
drawing me thus, closer
and the faint smile you not -so- subtly carry,
lingers upon your cherry red lips,
I remember you and feast upon deceiving ideas

Creases of yellow and of orangish red,
a flare of light burning—
the unwavering passion that you cause within me,
I remember how I am to remember you

Blue like water,
beaches and the resonating sound of waves that greet us ashore,
where the sands meet—my heart soils into this unknowing ache dropping a beat less steadier;
the rhythm of my strung heart is no more in compliance
I remember you in my deceptive self

Perhaps, this memory I make of you
is not the memory I am to picture;
for this strung heart is a fool of romances and ideas that never seem to subside
I remember you and feast upon it
In my, for my, deceiving ideas glorify.

-Shweta Kher


The grass imbued stains of our dear days;
whilst we lay together through this lonesome night,

I held on to the collar of his white cotton shirt,

toying the ends of it,

we talked endlessly into those stars that bore our heavenly bodies

To momentary happiness that lies within;

we all know it somehow

we guile ourselves to reach this end

we stray amidst the same

don’t you ever learn, love?

And there was I,

pledging us our tales of vow

that never stay the same

I knew—the guilt tricked us each time,

for every good has an end too.

– Shweta Kher


We seek love for the mere cravings that surface our ever longing desires,

for it is a loss that summons us on the insides,

And there are some of us who love only to endure such pain

the claim that we hold so dear;

we often delude ourselves and habituate to this faulty notion that we seek comfort in,

or perhaps we like to somehow

Oh dear,

you foolish heart of a fellow!

shall we come to love ever

I wonder not,


– Shweta Kher