What Good Is a Heart, Anyway?

By Sabyasachi Nautiyal

He sees the cracked bottle, 

With leaks untold, 

And unsaid emotions, 

Flowing out unknown, 

Out of his heart, 

His heart that's not there, 

For what good is a heart? 

The cause of bitter miseries, 

The greedy bastard he, 

Who loves and wants it all, 

The greedy bastard he, 

Who weeps and cries, 

And holds the wretched, 

In their sorrow, 

In their sadness, 

That greedy heart of yours, 

It wants to console and comfort, 

And help the causes long lost, 

For that greedy bastard, 

He wants it all, 

He loves them all, 

He cares for the souls, 

That ache and cry, 

And thrash in their sleep, 

And wound themselves, 

Soaking in blood, 

Your heart that loves and cries, 

And hears distant shouts, 

And lends them a shoulder, 

So that they can feel, 

So that they can heal, 

Your heart that holds hands, 

With the darkness, 

With the dreamers, 

With the believers, 

Yet it holds not his hand, 

For his hand is cold as ice, 

Oh your heart, 

How beautiful it is, 

How it wants to care for them all, 

Yet it cares not, 

For the gaping hole, 

That exists in his chest, 

Where should be his soul, 

For he doesn't care for what a heart can get, 

What good is your heart anyway? 

No one's told him, 

That he has one, 

So all he can do, 

Is survive in the void, 

With his cold hands, 

Surviving as the afterthought, 

Not caring for anyone, 

Not feeling for anyone, 

Not weeping for anyone, 

Not holding onto anyone, 

For he's the afterthought

For he has no heart, 

And he knows that, 

And he finds that amusing, 

All he does is laugh, 

And laugh, 

And laugh, 

And laugh, 

Until his throat runs dry, 

For in this world, 

He has it all, 

No need to weep, 

No thoughts too deep, 

But sometimes he feels, 

In your divine soul, 

You hold your beautiful art, 

Roars the envy in my chest, 

For I wish I had a heart…

By Sabyasachi Nautiyal