My heart,
Is a jigsaw puzzle composed of
Pieces of souvenirs from wherever
Life has taken me
Sunny mounts of happiness,
Dark troughs of gloom,
Blind alleys of secret memories
Punched out remains
Of the parts that I gifted to
Those special few
Uneven buds added on
To the surface, because some gave me
Pieces of their hearts too
Marks of where it was trodden on,
Scars that show its
Brave, healed face
With pins of guilt and remorse
Studding it in memory of how
It also became the cause of others' pain
That's my heart. Not so pretty,
Not perfect, not pure,
Yet it sits in my chest, beating away
Patiently, as if entirely sure
That any moment, its wait will end
Of someone who'll admiringly
Imbibe all of its stories,
Ease away all the tense knots,
View in awe all its glories
And let its inadequacies depart,
Completing them with closeness-
Smoothening their unevenness-
By merging with them,
Heart to heart