Little crimson heart

What good is a heart
if it never beat,
a meaningless pile of dirt
covered in scarlet sleet.

What purpose shall it fulfill?
for it has one of its own;
A rhythm’less ball of flesh and blood,
with love never known.

What worth was your life,
the one that never loved;
Scared in your lair,
coward, abject sun.

What world shall you inhabit?
for you don’t belong to this.
This world is for the broken heart’ed
to live in tormented bliss.

So choose your path and go,
walk wisely as you proceed;
A broken heart, repulsive may be,
can birth a narcissus seed.

A heart, never broken,
is a useless piece of stone,
like a star eternally lit,
but one that never shone.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar

2 thoughts on “Little crimson heart

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