Broken Heart And Rusted Bicycle

Broken heart,

And pieces of glass-

I throw them out of my window.

Useless stuffs!

 

A deflated basketball,

And failed dreams-

I sell them out to that street hawker.

For a few coins.

 

My rusted bicycle,

And a longing for love-

I litter them quickly onto the railway tracks.

Train’s coming!

 

My freedom to make a choice,

And my prayer rug;

Those memories beneath my pillow,

And the picture of my pop;

And the tiny breath of life

That I pump in and out-

Well, hold on:

I won’t throw them away

For any reason.

I won’t barter them

For any penny.

No.

At least not in this life.

 

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About Zeeshan

We are the twinkle in the eyes of oblivion.

2 comments

  1. so simple it was, and yet so differently deep to every other one who reads this.

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