The heart is never at one place
it is always on the move
a look, a read, a write in phases
a thought of food and sleep as proofs 
I am at home most times
my heart travels all the more
I sit unaware of the clock’s chimes
my heart trots, jumps and runs even more.
The felicity of the travel it conjures
could be of no comparison whatsoever
it sees, glimpses, peeps without perjure
a nice little way to loiter around as ever.
The images it gathers in its distinct journey
the experiences it encounters all through
could be of nothing similar to the real journey
has a lasting influence anyway all through.
The emotions and feelings it carries all the same
be the outcome of the day to day contentions
being active the subconscious plays a relentless game
while the conscious goes to sleep without retention.
The roam of the heart turns extensive
a premonition being on the cards
could occasionally turn reclusive
a reflection at times of hard .
A heart of steel be the decorum
succumbs not to the wear and tear
if at all it crumbles at the fulcrum
the physic collapses being unable to bear .
Saying so of the heart being an eulogy
the role of the heart is pivotal
unable to think of a fitting analogy
to”home is where the heart lies”being axial
Meenas Poems 