AN ODE TO THE INJURED LIP

They say there is a pair
For each pair of lips.
And it were yours
Those adorned mine
On that beautiful day
When it rained pearls
From the heavens, through
The foliage of clouds,
On the green grassy
Carpet on which we stood.

Those very pearls
Landed on my forehead,
Slid from the slant
Of my nose and
Perched themselves
On my lips which then
Shone like the
Red of a Ruby.
That crimson luster
I again saw,
On the previous night,
But more red in color,
For it is
Blood which bruises
Always draw.

Last night,
As I recall,
The lower of the pair
Hurt itself, ignorant
And unaware.
This pair of mine,
Once blessed with
A kiss from yours,
Had its lower one
Drenched in blood.

As if overwhelmed
With sensuality,
The volcano eject
Molten lava.
As if every prick of a thorn
Devotedly oozes blood
Out of my skin
And nourishes
The insatiable Red rose.

It was then that the
Dawn of a smile broke
Heavy on those lips
The same injured lip.
Not a sign of any pain
But a throbbing tribute
To Thee,
The ornament of my lips.