The pen such that brims with even one drop of the heart
A paper now that can empty the "toy shop of the heart"
Not the Indian farmer that erratic rains indebt
Blooms of un-invited rains, the crop of the heart
Hurt-regret had arrested my mind’s eye so sure
But for that corrupt cop of the heart!
Such stars exploded today in the sky and yet
Deepest crusts appeared, the mere top of the heart
Another bridge unlikely seems, stones spiritless sink
Sita listens quivering to each plop of the heart
Mars-Eros together when Desire’s harp amuse
Uncouth, rebels for melody, the hip-hop of the heart
At least barter a kiss for this semi precious stone
Also wipes the threshold the floor-mop of the heart
Ah! That ephemeral, winking start of the eyes
Oh! That permanent un-final stop of the heart!
Fickleness in our ways fool, and such times
At the drop of a hat, the drop of the heart!
Exiled into this theatre, find a stage and then
Dance on the world’s fangs with the prop of the heart
Life-like its fragility, and its movement anxious
In heart of hearts the timeless warp of the heart
A kabaadi that I am of these half deserted streets
Filling anew “the foul rag and bone shop of the heart”
I would go and call "Ishmael tonight", if I may
That man Kanav, pours drop by drop of the heart...
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