This heart of mine.

A scrap of paper ,
A dark blue pen,
Or even dry leaves
Would just be the same.
Or even my brain,
Would be just fine
For all that I need
In this empty mind,
Is a thought, a rhyme
A word or nine,
A little hate,
A little crime
And a life that is
Short but divine
Or maybe one
That’s not bounded by time!

Or should I first learn-
How to feel alive?
Yes. After I learn that
I will bloom and thrive
And then I’ll be done
With dealing with life!

This is all that I’ve heard
From this heart of mine.

This is, I hope, all that I’ve heard
From this heart of mine.


This poem was written in the beginning of 2018.

I will be posting old poems for the rest of the month.They are not that great but I want to share them. Also, I will be posting once or twice a week.

Previous post – Why don’t you?

65 thoughts on “This heart of mine.

  1. This is a favorite of mine. I keep coming back to it. I have it bookmarked to my poetry folder. I want to read it someday in a collection of your poems that you have published. I want it to be echoing in my ears on the day I die from having witnessed something too beautiful for a 97 year old heart to endure.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Your comment has made me feel sad for the first time. Usually they make me smile, they make me feel happy but this made me feel upset.

      I am happy that you found this poem beautiful. I am happy that you want it to be echoing in your ears, but not on the day you die. Not when you die from having witnessed something too beautiful for your heart to endure. Don’t say that, please. It makes me feel really upset.

      Like

      1. I’m horrified to have upset you! Perhaps it might comfort you to know that I have every chance of a long life. I have the constitution of my mother — who lived past her 99th birthday! I have read 88% of longevity is genetics. I fully intend to be around for quite some time.

        Liked by 2 people

      1. Keep writing and motivating 🙏

        मैं हारा या जीता फ़र्क किसे पड़ता है,
        जो हार को अपना गम मान ले,दर्द उसे पकड़ता है,
        आयीं कितनी आंधियाँ हम वैसे ही रहे खड़े,
        सुन हवाओं का नाम जो बिखर जाये, मर्ज़ उसे जकड़ता है।

        Liked by 1 person

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