My inbox is full of frivolous mail
My outbox is equally superficial
Both deserve only the trash
And both go there to crash.
What I have in my drafts
Is what matters the most.
The drafts are unsent and unread
But remain there for ages for me to read
The drafts bear testimony to my life
My broken relationships and my self
The tragedies I can’t share
The tears I can’t shed
When life becomes unbearable
Drafts come to my rescue
I pour out and save as a draft
And my being feels light as a raft
My drafts don’t yield to delete
And remain forever in the cache
My mail accounts keep changing
But my draft folder is always full.
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vrsampath
I found this poem very interesting. Somehow I found the central theme of the poem converge with my own personal take on drafts. A very good effort.
Thank you Vidya Sampath