A scar of yours,
And that your bruise,
A wound of yours,
And that your lesion.

Your unhealed wounds,
Will last a merry sound,
Your slash your scratch,
Will neither heart hatch.

They'll glance they'll peer,
They'll peep they'll peek,
But they'll not solicit,
For they'll give heat.

They'll be a salt to your wound,
Mountain to the molehill around,
They'll not be the cure,
They'll not be the bandage pure.

You'll seek you'll peek,
You'll scrutinize the world bleak,
You'll shook you'll hook,
But the souls won't look.
"Coz people are not bandages".
©Simranbhatia