Black Organ

Been dropping the redness into my heart
But this organ of blackness doesn't gets start
Pumping the air of love to get rid at last
The illness of rust is prevailing so fast
Been bubbling the cotton of love in my chest
Been blooming the dry heart ;out of rest
Been brushing the tangled veins of my heart
Been stumbling to face the reckless blast
The blossom of springing red love
Been sticking the wings on my dead dove
Watering the bone dry pitch of my heart
Escaping the curse of my gloomier past.

Rarity of heart

Being passionate and a perfectionist was always difficult. She knew it was maybe that she never found her happy ending, she never gave her thoughts a priority, always keeping herself busy, giving excuses how it was all fake and toxic for her heart ,and she was always busy with living others dreams, she knew it was making others happy but what about her heart? What about it? Asked the girl in the blue scarf. “It has never loved yet know how to thump at the gaze of lovely love, it was never allowed to go out in the gardens of various doves, it kept quiet, was sorrowful, waiting for the perfect time, didn’t know that it’s passion and perfection was too bright for this world to see, so it stopped shining, it went into those shades that hides a thing underneath as if it doesn’t exist. Many people came and unknowingly stabbed, kicked and hurt it in the shadows but it knew, it just knew that one day, one fine day it will beat again, feel those longed thumps that it has waited for but hurt is not all that it got, there were blessed things that not mingling with every other dove gave her, the heart possessed purity, it had that rarity that everyone wished for, but she knew, she knew that her heart belonged to someone, she never yet met.” Said she.

Love

Love is never about molding others and only loving the already lovely features of others but it is about dealing and living with imperfections that maybe darker than their skin color, their bright faces and their words. Love is never about picking up all the good traits and leaving the bad right there, no it isn’t love, it is as if you pick and shop various stuff from market, leaving the already open, messed up things on the rack. Humans are not things, Humans breath, they live, they have a pumping heart, that sometimes ache because of your false pickings, your unreal expectations. You shouldn’t just scatter your wants all over the place while not even bothering a single thing about the other one. It isn’t love, it is called being satisfied with yourself and being overly self-obsessed while knowing you have someone who is less adorable, less smart, just less something from you. You satisfy your superiority need that’s all you’re doing, it isn’t love, It isn’t

                                                                                

Drunk heart

Heart was marked by many of those spots, I cleaned, I bleached, I washed, and I rubbed. This one rub was engraving the heart, I wasn’t ready, and didn’t invite it either. I thought the spot would go like the others, I stayed, but then craved. It’s thought started to merge in my thoughts, I fell, just couldn’t sleep well. I screamed, with fear, thinking it would leave me if I tear, was wrong, got drunk; right into its trunk. Its trunk had the branches similar to mine, I felt, I liked, and gave it all of mine. I was changed, yet chained, not knowing what I felt, I closed, what I chose, questioning every bit of me. It blinded me then guided me, I found love, raised love, just didn’t let it enlighten me like a little dove. It was there, but I feared, it will take me away from my life, I knew it as drug, life and some foreign wine. It was pure, somewhat sour; for those who just didn’t see but when I saw, that I have wronged, every bit of me, I was shaken, somewhat taken and I gave myself (to it) up.