A Lost Letter Poem by Purvesh khamankar

When strangled words which couldnt be said,
on mortal paper were bare laid.
The shaky hand that wrote the line,
quitely wiped the salty wine.


Those buried feelings fared free,
like a sapling out of ancient tree.
All memories of that forlorn tale,
sailing atop a blaring gale.


The letter flew but sealed and brown,
for once stranger who now carries noun.
Along the dreams of its fabled path,
it drifted for the ocean bath.


Off and off it went on its own,
hurtling towards a known unknown.
Floating along cold and warm,
dry with waves arm in arm.


Rests it now in shade and mud,
an oracle of broken blood.


P.S.K