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By Yashika Vashisht

I am scared to show you my heart, for it is a crumpled up piece of paper,

But I’m unfolding it gently hoping your cuts will be safer;

Handle it with care and whisper in my ear gently,

Perhaps something to make the phantoms sound friendly.

Fill it with poetry, fill it with love,

Embrace it tenderly and call the dove;

Gather cupid, Eros and Venus,

And ask them to keep it strictly between us.

Don’t breathe a word about it to anyone,

Else we’d have to run howbeit our crime is none;

The fear we have eaten is off of others’ plates,

Now the taste on our tongues it too ruined for us to open up the gates.

If death agrees, I’ll collect your blood and plant an anemone,

If not us, it will last an eternity;

In these trying times, I’m willing to share a stage with you,

Only if you will promise to dance for all that we’ve been through.

By Yashika Vashisht

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