Take a piece of ice. 

You’ll realise it’s warmer than you are.

Coat it with salt.

You’re good at rubbing it on wounded souls.

Dip it in kerosene.

Till you’ve filled it’s pores with hate.

Till it chokes & struggles to take a breath.

Take it out and ask it,

How it feels.

And it will tell you-

Exactly, what I’ve been feeling for years.

I might seem numb. 

& If you touch me,

My skin will still feel cold.

But, my insides are boiling.

Boiling up to explode.

A little bit of friction,

Will be enough to set me ablaze.

A littlest spark,

& you’ll see the ice getting engulfed in flames.

Burning down all of your walls. 

Choking your air of superiority with smoke.

I know, I’ll be evaporating myself in the process.

And the thing stopping me isn’t that I’ll be no more.

But, the collateral burns my loved ones will have to suffer.


(Sometimes I’m myself surprised by how weird I am. Anyway, that’s irrelevant here.) 

This poem is in response to the daily post: Flames

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