The Roses

I wake up and wash my eyes,

and notice the twinkling of the pinks,

who made such color, who made such bliss.

I soak my face and again look at it,

what dark tinge there

who filled it there, who poised it there.

the first inkling that I am heating inside

the first sign that I am shivering outside

the first wrinkle, how it came up here?

the roses are inside us, are on us.

for so, we kiss our loves,

the yearn quenches through them.

the soft and the gentle brushes,

hard sometimes, and the tangling of emotions

who brings to the core.

yes, they are lips,

the roses flung on us,

the mysterious dark beauties.