If heart had a Pen !


Inside of us where it silently resides

suffocated by fumes of hatred and lies
it melts in façades we wear and dies
the world ignores its ghostlike voice
at its grave grew a rotten rose
if it could write what it wants the most

the hands of men wrote themselves verses of solace
the lame heart can’t write down its conscience
with humility it gives out its reason
poor heart that always long to be true
but it can’t write so we paint it blue

if the heart had magical hands of an artist
if it had the colors to portrait its protest
i wish it that as i rythm my sighs
i’m lucky that my pen sings even when am quiet
but one day i’ll hand my own heart a pen
let it write the psalm of its pain.

                      Inked by  Sagar

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