I saw the small plant <br />In the deserted tin shed <br />Growing happily in the dark <br />Under a broken wooden crate <br />The slender stem bending its neck <br />Towards the crack in the wall, <br />Seeking out sunlight and the breeze, <br />To get rid of the blanched look. <br /> <br />The heart seeks and searches without pause, <br />A lonely hunter stalking love day and night. <br />It dies everyday a little with sickness growing. <br />Sometimes it is almost stifled <br />Under an overwhelming desire <br />To sit on a bench in some railway station <br />And pour out to a stranger <br />The contents inside as the blood <br />Spurting out of a fresh wound. <br /> <br />Sunday comes bearing <br />A bundle of indifference, <br />Monotonous moments never ending. <br />Evenings are a table, <br />At the corner of a restaurant. <br />Time flies slowly, silently, <br />As the rising white rings <br />Of smoke from the cup of hot tea. <br />An empty room, an empty bed <br />Await at a place called home. <br /> <br />Faces on the streets are all strangers, <br />Their eyes hunting for familiarity, <br />It is now in confinement elsewhere, <br />On the pages of a strange book, a facebook. <br />I turn the pages after pages fervently, <br />A shiver of excitement running through me. <br />A nun humbly bending over an open hymn book. <br />Strange faces smile at me. <br />An enchanting mystery glitter in the eyes. <br /> <br />The heart is in a trance, <br />I am drunken, savouring <br />The last drop of wine, <br />Eagerly I bend as the plant <br />Under the broken wooden crate. <br />Vigour soon changed to apathy. <br />Insatiate I close the book, <br />The heart is now a barren land, <br />Where no plant will ever grow.<br /><br />Aimanu Begum<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-heart-is-a-lonely-hunter-2/
