Heart's Ruination

It is not like it was earlier,

Pure and brave, unconditional and generous.

Like it ever loved all without return,

Like it ever worked whole without jealousy,

Of doing most labour of job;

Heart is now become a bogus organ,

Creating envies and acting treacheries.

Like it become a demon in the layer,

Slayer of passion, loathing strewn.

Finished with innocence of childhood, now weaving crimes,

That beautiful piece of flesh which whilom was dwelling of 'light'.

— Prashant Tiwari