Blue Jar

You have a tiny jar,
A tiny blue jar
Hidden somewhere, so out of reach
That you don’t even give people
A chance to guess.

That tiny jar is exactly
The size to fit
My deformed heart.

You say that the jar
Has tiny robots residing within,
Doctors of their own world
Doctors who give
Their everything to fix
Whatever is served to them
On their tiny stretcher,

And once the fixing is done
Your jar transforms into
A home,
A dark blue home,
Glistening with a range
Of yellow fairy lights
And smelling of familiarity,

A home with two
Tiny arms embracing
Every piece, even those
Which somehow manage to wander.

But you see, guys like you
Make my heart flutter,
For a while, in utter awe
But most of the time, in utter fear.

The sense of familiarity your home provides
Scares the homeless within me
For whom familiarity means nothing but

Your jar which fits my messed-up heart
Perfectly within,
Scares the footloose within me,
For whom closed surroundings
Always turned out to result
Into a rat trap.

But to top it all,
The comfort your jar brings along
In that particular shade of blue,
Scares my heart the most,

Because what if, with time
Your shade for me keeps
Fading away
Until the point
Where there’s none at all.