My Lonely Heart...

I have been guilty of clutching endlessly to memories which meekly detonate constant emotional outbursts. I tend to hold back on the enthralling emotions while I pen anything; I failed miserable while writing this:

I’m all alone;
befriend me,
says my lonely heart
and extends its hands
toward you.

You see its hands
and start to fear.
They are burned
to the elbows.

In such condition
who could possibly take
someone’s hand?
How could anyone
become friends?

You turn away
and begin to walk somewhere
far from my heart's abode.

Watching you withdraw
perhaps my heart itself begins to fear.
In haste it starts to follow
and calls out,
Take me with you.

Hiding its hands inside a white cloth
it calls out again.
You see it coming along
and You stop.
So does my heart.

You look at its feet
and close
your eyes.
Its toes
are covered with blisters;
the soles of its feet, its heels
bleed.

You say to my lonely heart,
You can’t come with me
without proper footwear—
canvas shoes, woolen socks.
And
You set out
on your way.

Hearing your words
My lonely heart’s eyes well up with tears.
You don’t see them.
What happens to my lonely heart
when You leave?
You don’t worry about it.
My lonely heart’s grief, how lonely it must be
without you—
leaving it behind, on our way
You have no idea at all.

You are unaware:
whenever ill befalls you
my lonely heart, like true friends,
is troubled.
Wherever You may be
it runs after you
upon its wounded feet
to save you.

Finding you nowhere
it raises
its
hands in supplication
burned to the elbows
and says a prayer
for your well-being.