Typing… and the Love that Stayed Unsent

 ““Typing… and the Love that Stayed Unsent”

(Black–Golden Series)

For many nights,

your name has stayed on the screen,

trapped in those three tiny dots —

“typing…”

As if a feeling

hesitated in the heartbeat

before turning into a word.

How many times I wished—

you would write something, anything...

a simple “Hi,”

or that old “Are you awake?”

But each time

those dots fade away,

like a lamp

not blown by the wind,

but frightened by its own flame.

Perhaps you wrote something—

then erased it,

the way I leave my thoughts

in the “drafts” of my mind.

Now I look at that blue screen

as if it were a temple,

where “typing…” becomes

not a chant,

but a quiet waiting.

Sometimes I feel

our love is just like that—

unfinished,

a message never sent,

yet its echo

still breathing softly

in my notifications.

Mukesh Ilahabadee”

For many nights,

your name has stayed on the screen,

trapped in those three tiny dots —

“typing…”

As if a feeling

hesitated in the heartbeat

before turning into a word.

How many times I wished—

you would write something, anything...

a simple “Hi,”

or that old “Are you awake?”

But each time

those dots fade away,

like a lamp

not blown by the wind,

but frightened by its own flame.

Perhaps you wrote something—

then erased it,

the way I leave my thoughts

in the “drafts” of my mind.

Now I look at that blue screen

as if it were a temple,

where “typing…” becomes

not a chant,

but a quiet waiting.

Sometimes I feel

our love is just like that—

unfinished,

a message never sent,

yet its echo

still breathing softly

in my notifications.

Mukesh Ilahabadee