SCARRED HEART
I was born with a heart,
Pink, throbbing, apiece of art.
Color red was not bloods reflection,
But warmth of hope, love and affection.
It knew no deceit,
Was full of passion albeit.
To live life to the full, was the aim,
You don’t live twice was the claim.
It was full of beautiful notions,
Love for all and lovely emotions.
Many a times it ruled over brain,
Defied logic, did things insane.
And then emotions play a trick,
Break the heart,make it feel sick.
Everyone you love leaves a scar,
And heart is lost in a heartless war.
At the end of the day, heart is no pink,
All the scars weigh heavy, make it sink.
Feels nothing,just pumps blood low and high,
A heart is dead much before the body says goodbye.