A broken heart is the worst illness of all.
It makes you bitter.
It makes you pine.
It makes you cranky.
It makes you crawl.
And like that is not enough,
It also makes you deny all this stuff,
That you think doesn’t exist,
But in fact they should have been the things you should resist,
When you are falling head over heels,
Oblivious to the way the impact of the fall feels.
Cause there can never be a bed of roses when you hit the ground,
Only unidentifiable bits and pieces of you and blood all around.
And then you just can’t stop asking, “why me? ”
Ignoring everyone else’s tears that join yours in the sea.
It’s commendable that people still want to put themselves through,
A love story with a ghastly ending like me and you.
There are so many mute 'Why me? 'stories around that you will be amazed if you could read the mind. Well done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It makes you bitter. It makes you pine. It makes you cranky. It makes you crawl. Overall analysis of a broken heart or be its enunciation.