Listen careful, my sweet lover,

Of the story of a lost world,

Time is fleeting, for winter is plucking flowers,

Now let the magic begin to unfold.

There was once a creation,

Untouched by mere mortals,

Where emotions were at liberation,

And none could reach through portals.

Unfathomable and unseeing it was,

A big brown library,

Inside a parallel bubble- unreachable by us,

And crowded with letters entirely.

Some letters long, some letters short,

Some made of silk and others of lint,

All handwritten – some neat, some not,

Of all the things we whispered to the wind.

Things we thought were better left unsaid,

Words that chocked us with guilt and fear,

Written to the people we have hurt and those we will -with regret,

And to the people we lost -some by blood and some by tears.

Letters by lovers who once were inseparable,

Letters by companions who once were unbreakable,

Hollow promises and cajoles now burnt – irreparable,

All embodied in letters that remain lost and unreadable.

Lost sentences, lost words, lost spaces,

Lost breaths, lost thoughts, lost voices,

Lost dreams, lost hopes, lost blood,

Lost allies, lost peace, lost advices.

If for every lost feeling, there was an equal lost letter,

One would find it in this library,

Hushed behind large closed doors - they stay hidden,

And there they shall remain, lost for all of eternity.

And if I were ever to hold such power,

To unlock the secret haven of the lost,

To read letters of undead voices, My lover-

-have faith, for I never will and cannot.

And so goes the story of the lost world,

Wherein lies a big brown library,

And now it is time, so long- till I write you next,

Await letters from another world, letters from another me.