Some wounds are visible on the face,
But countless are hidden in the soul's space.

What's the worth of others' admiration now?
These are all gifts from our own, somehow.

What did those who inflicted wounds become to me?
Can they be called my own or my well-wishers, you see?

No one became a remedy for these wounds' profound,
Instead, they added new ones, all around.

Now, to whom should I reveal my soul's plight?
Just an ordinary girl, lacking any special light.

The seal of honor will be placed upon me,
And my wound, deeper, it shall be.

© Aleena Tanveer