For ages, that letter, unopened, lies,

I don't know when last I opened these closed window eyes.

Awake, I am pondering, how fares your "first" afternoon's light?

My room's now as messy as I am tonight.

I don't recall when last the setting sun did gleam,

How much I long to ask, "Why with my heart do you scheme?"

Back then, the address was fresh, a brand new start,

To write you a letter was joy for my heart.

The diary remains, but its pages are worn and so frail,"Shreyasi," did such a one exist, a sorrowful tale?

Who brought to this foolish wanderer, such deep despair,

Today, the open breeze whispers, "Come, let's wander far, beyond all care..."