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Noted Nest

Letters to My Tempest

By Harleen Kaur


Letters to my beautiful:  

Thick, rough sheets, an ashen amber,  

Fluttering against the azure skies,  

Kindling love affairs like fiery ember.


Letters to my beloved:  

The paper leaves are time-worn and crinkled,  

Wrapped in envelopes, aged and venerable.

The frail, trembling hand holding it seems equally wrinkled.


Letters to my dearest:  

Lush landscapes of adventures unfurled,  

Letters bleeding longing in smudged scrawls,  

Dry lips whisper the words, tenderly curled.


"Dearest Love,


I regret to inform you of my delayed visit,  

The days here are barely passing, 

Dark and hellish, ominous and rigid.

The war is glorified anguish 

Like petals and thorns, 

Everything seems frigid.

My eyes thirst for our lovely kids,

The many memories, I must miss.

Ava and Aaron, my little sweethearts

How long, I wonder, we have to stay apart.


Your thoughts plague me throughout the day,  

I await nights, to meet you in dreams 

Of saffron sunrises and moonlit veil.

Where intensity breeds passionate crimson cascades,  

As scarlet silences and somber symphonies alternate.


I miss you, Aurora, your wicked tongue, your velvet voice,

The gleam in your alluring hazel eyes when you rejoice!

I miss you, Aurora, the feel of your hands,  

The curl of your soft fingers in my palms.

I crave our long and crazy talks,

Autumn, pies and swings in parks.

I thirst for your loud laughs,

How they touch, my silly little heart!

I long for you, my wild, devilish tempest,  

That evil tilt of your lips, enticing and luminous!


I will come home soon, my dear,  

And hold you through the night,  

As we watch stars dazzle in their velvet lair.


Ever yours, Edward "


Letters to my treasured:  

Fingers trace the lines through worlds infinite,  

Aphrodisiac to my parched soul,  

Gulping them like a starved wanton, 

Withering in their decline.



"My love,


Your words have become my elixir,  

I hold onto those through fragile tendrils.

I am drenched in sweat of fervor,  

This heartache feels cruel and unreal.


Wars are the paradox of mirrors and masks:

The reflective honesty in agony-filled wails

Is concealed under shadows of deceptive gales.

The whispers and roars of truth and lies 

Can no longer penetrate the dusky haze.


Ava and Aaron are growing beautifully,  

Like little flowers blooming in an enchanting mystery,  

They miss you a lot, I myself crave desperately.

I believe we will meet soon, smiling. Hopefully.


Keep hope, dear,  

You are saving so many mothers' tears.



I miss you, Ed, your sandalwood scent,  

Your embrace makes me forget

Every scar and every regret.

I miss you, Ed, your sense of humor,

The secret winks, of a devious lover.

I miss you, Ed, your sweet dimples,

The way your seductive lips make me shiver.

I miss you, Ed, your emerald eyes,  

The way they crinkle when you smile.


I will wait for you, love.

Just hold onto your heart,  

Miles may separate us,  

But heartstrings never part...


Eternally yours, Aurora "



Letters to my precious:  

The sheets are damp, ink dilapidated,  

Tears crust on the sheets in drops of crystal,  

Why do my red eyes itch, still unabated?


Promises made and forgotten

Letters exchanged, now forlorn, sullen.

Waiting for decades at the threshold,  

The whispering air has fallen cold.


One last letter, the woman reads

Her brain sizzles, her fingers twitch.



"To Aurora Kane,


We feel deep regret to inform you mam,

That Edward Kane has died in the battle.

His sacrifice will always be remembered,

Edward was a true and loyal patriot.


We, his comrades and friends,

Hope for God's blessings.

Please come to collect his belongings,

In office barracks, by tomorrow evening.


Unfortunately, a burial is not possible,

The body lies in the enemy fields.

The country mourns the loss,

His brave soul will forever be missed.


Commander Adam Smith." 


Eyes closed, now silent and weak,  

Moisture streaks dry on papery skin.

Head bowed and mind numbed

The heart beats twice, once, stops.


The boy became ash in the chars of war.

The girl died reading letters from before.

Hoping for a last kiss from her lover,

As the stars dazzled in their velvet lair.



In the air, however,

The scarlet symphonies still prance,  

The old ashen sheets still dance,  

Hearts fall silent and still 

One dead and the other one killed,

But, as Aurora said, at last

The heartstrings will never part...


By Harleen Kaur



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