The Irony of Thirst is the Thirst Itself

There is this one feel,
Like a never ending thirst,
In the middle of the desert, 
Burning in your throat,
Demanding to be aid.
Under the glaring sun,
Where all you could see was nothing but sand.

You'd walk, and when you see a glimpse of what it appears to be like aqua,

 you'd run towards it, 

striving to get there but you could never actually find it. 

Mirage they call it.

Like the process of learning,

It's a type of thirst you could never quench.

But sometimes, 

You are convinced by nafs,

You've known enough,

You've seen the water,

But how come you never find it?

And by the end of the day, 

you figured that this is a type of thirst you could never quench,

And you'd be dying asking for extra time everyday,

Lamenting on the past you've wasted,

Promising God knows who,

That you'd use it wisely next time.

Wishing you'd learn more when you were younger,

So that you've already known more by now,

But yet, you are wasting the time you are given now,

And when a second passed,

You cursed yourself for a second you wasted.

But yet, you keep on doing whatever you are doing,

Unworthy of 'ilm and nuur.

How ironic could a human be would you mind telling me?