Don’t play with my heart,
its not any toy;
you rag it and you strafe it,
you tease it and annoy.
Its a gift of the almighty lord,
it fights and curses the fraud,
you treat it like Diablo,
and you are the Arsacle,
for you they might be just words,
for it, they are no less than a crackle.
I dream of being your delight,
you just end that in twilight,
you sue it, you almost kill it,
you grow in it guilt and pain,
but my dear, its innocent
in the God’s court, proven.
[Written in July 2011 or 2012 I don’t remember exactly. ]
[Note : I wrote this poem at a time when I used to be a believer, a theist, unlike now]