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.


At least not in this life.



About Zeeshan

We are the twinkle in the eyes of oblivion.


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

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