How much we need our lungs to breath, just like the tree needs the leaves to live. How much we need our eyes to see the fulfilling sight of the sea, but sight can be a distraction the minute we think we need our skin to feel. Our breathe stinks the moment our heart refuses to beat. Science has not told us we need our heart to see better and ditto to breath deeper. The heart is a beautiful organ. But who really knows? The chest wall is not a show glass, otherwise we would see the heart. The heart roams the space of the chest, darting in directions like pollen obeying Brownian motion. Nothing is more elusive.
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The heart is a fickle fate, an itinerant bird flying from tree to tree. The bird has a path in the sky that we cannot trace. Sometimes we try to, but we get lost in the enigma of the sky. The heart is the sky, adorned with many colours. It changes its colour like the chameleon. This moment it is grey, the next, it turns blue. Trying to understand the dynamics of the sky, we fix our gaze, but we are building castles in the air because the heart suddenly becomes the sun. The smiling sun has a charm that leaves us with no choice but to smoke back.
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The heart is a mistress of suspense, wearing a smokescreen as a veil. The heart assumes the mystery of the universe, with the sun in the centre. Everything keeps rotating and the earth keeps revolving around the sun. The sights are too dazzling for our eyes to hold on tight. This centre of confusion is where the heart lives. Dear heart, we know you give us a hoot, but some things are better understood the moment you remove your hood. Until then we cannot see the real face behind the mask.