The amorphous sand dunes on the chest of desert
Blemishing its soul superficially, causing fugacious scars
Then comes the confused wind, dispersing the gold grains
On the scratched heart, thus panacea rains.
Unlike the exteriors of desert, human hearts have iron-crusts
The wounds don’t erode, with time they only rust
Slowly crumbles the shell , and deeper seeps the hurt.
They gulp down misery, but keep the face robust.
Life would have been much easier
if human scars too were easy to dust.
Confused– The Daily Post prompt
Midnight Soprano 