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Pieces of my heart beat to bleed
Let me start a dialogue,
not without missing a prologue,
I will announce my foreword,
which you read and forward,
to make people wallow and cry,
not running their hopes dry,

Will ensure that you enjoy,
the show and the ploy,
because I am a storyteller,
charging a single coin -- never,

I crave the audience to listen,
feel my soul and wonder,
the pains I forego,
in rains over my coat,

Only to concoct a tale later,
swaying listeners together,
thinking about a lost love,
who never got a berth,
in the seat of my life's canal,
where true love had a fall,
with no one to catch its defeat,
left alone by many on their rudimentary street,

But I come back again,
showing beauty after I sustain,
writing attacks in blue,
stories that ring home rather true,

They call me a hypnotist,
who always has a twist,
the magic is on the sleeve,
where pieces of my black heart still beat to bleed.


© Nilakshi Garg

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