In A Jar Far, Far Away
Kept inside a jar far far away, mine beats.
The ground below me is all brown, today.
The trees are green and it's all beautiful around, today.
The air smells of rain,
And my parrot flaps its wings around in joy.
The sky above, though, sends not a single gust of wind
That would caress my face the same way
Or incite the same shuddering pleasure
I had felt just about yesterday.
But no matter how hard I try,
It slowly yet surely fades itself to a blur.
Sometimes I think it's the tears that have clouded my vision.
Yet I know it's my mind's concussion.
I wake up at dawn to see whether at least the vermillion
up-across can move me.
But even the rosy fingers of the morn sun fail to cast on me their spell.
It riddles me though, when those fingers run across my body and I see that the gaping hollow on my chest hasn't healed yet.
But I thought about it today.
And I thought of the impossibility too.
And whether impossible or not,
I did think that I can come across
And beat the odds too.
Yet I have accepted the reality,
Well, whatever is real for me.
But tell me, is your heart kept inside some jar far, far off too?
Tell me, does it still beat? And if yes, for who?