Heart on the fist

Did I carry my heart in hands?

Warmer than the summer's waves

still not enough to melt your indifference

Into love...

Or held yours too close?

colder than the glaciers

devoid of any feelings that enchants calculated affection.

Your heart has a mind of its own.

Either of the above

left my palms burnt!

Maybe I need to warm mine a little bit more

in the flames of your abandonment.

And just when it comes to terms with it,

belong them to your seldom spoken words,

bidding it with the right amount of warmth,

to not let it be like yours,

and with some level of cool,

to save it from being volatile ofcourse.

My charted palms

entwines with warm hands

of innocent hearts

every once in a while.

Inflamming, I unhand those.

They find relief, 

only in longing for the pieces

of your unyielding icy exterior, 

that once burnt them.

Irony laughs on me,

I sigh!!!