The Hidden Wounds

By Maimoonah M.K

Deep down do I dive and I get the balm for my grieving heart,

But I float above and discard the rub to feel the pain,

I immerse my conscious being in harrowing flames,

When I know the truth, the reason of those hidden wounds then why do I drown

in unendurable ache and moan in the quiet hours of noon in vain,

Does the prickly pear remind the thirsty traveller in the blistering desert the softness of his being,

Lest he may mistake himself to be a consort of the harsh desert breeze.

By Maimoonah M.K