An ache

It feels like the world is on fire. 

And, the ache of blisters are competing;

one with the other.

Former leads the upcoming,

none tends to heal. 

The wind that blows, 

expected to be pacifying, 

 comes up with vigor instead.

They said love seals.

How naïve it is, not to realize,

 it is meant to seal the fragile.
Rock demands to be melted.

 A fire to reform, and an ache to repel.

The difference

Craving for a drop, he hassled

just a single little one that he wished of.

Deserted, handful of rough grits it felt. 

He sought out everywhere,

with an empty jar, 

vulnerable and rusted. 

Like how a thirsty child seeks his mother’s breast,

slothful, expecting a heavy rain.

And there was a thing about “the sun”

that was eyeing him constantly, 

while he was trying to escape.

Mesmerizing it was, equally bright,

even when it set.