Our hearts leave us every day,
Without leaving traces behind.
Dying in others’ homes
And coming back to their homes is their habit.
Enjoying life is antithetical to them,
Dying in the river of blood is what they seek for.
Bruised hearts and bodies are what we have,
After nourishing them for decades.
Smiling in death is their bravery,
Cowering in fear is opposite to their imagery.
Singing lyrical poems in grief needs heart,
Keeping cool in pain needs to be smart.
Every day, our hearts leave us.
No traces are to be found of them.