The heart of heartbeats

Tiny, feeble, riffling thumps.

Thumping away beneath.

Stomping to their own beat.

Pre-chosen by them,

or by someone else.

I don't know.

I don't get a say.

Tiny, feeble, ignored thumps.

Pressing softly in my eardrums.

Going about their work.

They don't share much.

I can't ask why.

I don't get to judge.

Signs of life.

Momentary, most-important.

Must be working with quiet sneers.

They don't know rest.

Can't know a quiet moment.

Signatures of life.

Ever-present, never-dulled.

They make me feel they are,

when whipped by worthy emotions.

Proofs of life.

Will they survive my trenchant logics?

I don't think they care much.

I don't feel alive.

(Note: This is one of the five entries that made me reach the Top 50 writers in India list in Hashtag Kalakar's Poetry and Creative Writing Competition Season 1, held in 2021)