let me write

 

Let me write

about the lost art of letter writing,

and serenade

its lost twin, the art of composition,

that of curating the details of our day,

replete with observations, thoughts, feelings, losses and longings

which traverse the distance from heart and mind through ink onto paper,

all for an intimate audience of

one -

one special person who would receive

our hand-written ruminations of that past hour

complete with a sign-off, quoting lines from hit songs of the day

truly, madly, deeply.

 

Even if we wrote the same letter to another friend,

It would never be exactly the same.

The handwriting may curve differently for the letters ‘y’ and ‘m’,

an exclamation mark may tone down to a comma,

and so this poem

laments the loss of those authentic records of teenage feelings

collected in letters written during Econs and Lit lectures,

and once, even during a Geography prelim exam,

to a friend who read it once, and

maybe, still has it in a dusty file

at the back of the top-most storage cupboard above the wardrobe.

 

So different today, when each burst of thought

is immediately captured in public tweets

And each memorable scene is instagrammed across the globe

So our thoughts and feelings and losses and longings blurt out of us in print

On an as and when basis

While, longer compositions are crafted, styled and assembled

A para here, a para there,

Perhaps like this poem itself,

And those days of receiving, in one breath, so to speak, a letter from a friend,

Is somewhat

Lost.