The heart wriggles—it feels, it feels plenty.
In love, it staggers, it drowns, it loses
Touch with reality; moments become eternity.
In joy, the heart wriggles, and so in peace
This heart feels, it feels plenty,
Yet no feeling, o’, you may never find one
That blows the heart away, as the winds
Of freedom do—the heart wriggles
The heart shrinks, it gets cold, it shivers—
It fears, it doubts, it trusts, slow, or not.
It remembers, o’, the past and the future
Troubles the heart—it shrinks, it shivers,
It tries to let go of what was, accept
Beginnings too. See, growth can source
Fears, doubts, diminishing trust; growth,
It can feel complicated, and complications
Trouble the heart—It shrinks, it shivers
The heart knows—it holds all the truths.
The heart is dark too—it hides all the secrets
Within; heart, o’, this heart—it keeps the key
Close, yet we seek, we try, we cry, we speak
Ill of ourselves, and ill-treat ourselves,
Yet everything, the heart knows. Silence
Is its game. It tears, streams; endless streams,
As it watches, the truth close. It tears
As we break, as we fall, and rise to fall.
But blame the heart not—
Incoherence is a devil,
And the devil resides
Within every being.
If you can see this devil
In the form of incoherence
You could as well
Understand the heart
And know yourself
As whole, as one
And all the answers,
All the secrets,
Benson Langat is a poet, fiction writer, and freelancer. A dreamer, he realizes a world of possibilities through stories and explores life in poetry. Benie is a dad and lives in Nairobi, Kenya.