Not Just My Letters.

Letters, read, written,
Many now,
Lost most of them,
Some lying still in my
Mailbox, drawers, mind,
Somehow they don't
Belong to time.
They time travel,
I don't know, but
I guess they do.

Letters sometimes
Wait an entire lifetime, and
They also are only connection to
Future too,
They talk about rains and
Farms, about being single,
And walks down the memory lanes,
Music in them lay trapped,
And so does love.

Writing one is not an easy job,
If in courtship - very difficult,
In love - an indulgence,
To a loved one it generates tears,
Every breath while reading
Would tear isolation apart.

Then there are days when
They bring isolation,
Creating ownership to
One's life,
That we could do more,
That we can make it work,
About vision, and you and me.

Letters think, they play games,
I have some kisses trapped in some,
How important they are for me,
And me for them,
Trust me, I love to read one,
Write one, romance some,
And so little a time to do
So much more,
About what I have in
My mind.