by Nozipho Madlala
Beating rhythmically like a set of drums,
While red juices of life flow, graciously, into its space,
The heart sings praises to the gods of love
Giving thanks for their grace.
The heart sees not the bruises of the flesh,
Nor the teardrops from saddened eyes.
The heart feels not the pain from cold beatings,
Nor does it question man and his lies.
Through the eyes of the heart, all seems beautiful,
And through its ears, all sounds calm.
The hands of the heart feel tenderness in all,
While its soul sees the earth as a heavenly realm.
The heart hears not the taunts of scoffers,
Nor does it feel the aches of hunger.
The heart is blind and it is deaf,
Yet, somehow, it lets love grow stronger.
Though it is the given life source to all,
The heart still remains the most fragile.
For the heart can easily be stolen,
But can only be kept whole for a short while.