Scar on the Cheek
The kiss on the cheek
planted swift, turns
to thorny scratch, burns
long and thin, drips
red on black dirt.
Fragile petals live a breath
away, a thin vein from death.
Roses keep distant,
far from drawn swords
ready to impale petal-skin.
Repent and attempt
to pluck stems of
delicate short-lived beauty,
for arrangements in a vase,
that fragrance may erase
the scent of love’s demise.
But watch when red drips:
seeds bloom anew,
emit ethereal perfume, transform
into wild, vibrant, hybrid,
blood-red rose. Are you a rose?
Are you a thorn?
Or one scratched by scorn
of deceiver’s kiss?
Show me your scar.
© prasanta 7/20/2011
47 While he was still speaking a crowd came up, and the man who was called Judas, one of the Twelve, was leading them. He approached Jesus to kiss him, 48 but Jesus asked him, “Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?” – Luke 22:47-48
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