By Sindhu Gatha, WFY Bureau | Art & Culture | The WFY Magazine, February, 2026, Edition
Heart into Heart
Between us,
There are no kisses,
No promises,
No flowers.
There is—
Only the piercing Silence.
It wasn’t through laughter
That your heart
Took root within mine,
But through breaking.
Two chests didn’t collide;
One simply dissolved Into the other.
Love didn’t just “happen” there—
It seeped into the bones.
This love is harsh.
It does not comfort us;
It holds us captive, Alive.
Your heart is an invisible migrant Inside me.
If I try to cast it out,
It is I who gets evicted.
We didn’t grow together;
We were crushed together
Therefore, parting Is not a separation—
It is a haemorrhage.
Even if you leave,
Your presence remains
A geographical line within my chest.
Like a land without maps,
You will endure within me.
To no one else
Will this love seem beautiful
For it did not grow among flowers—
It is a root that refuses to die,
Even in a graveyard.
I have this to tell you
This is not a love
That gives life;
It is a state
That sustains life itself.
A love that joins heart to heart
Does not kiss—
It never lets go.
By Sindhu Gatha