But A Wound To Her!

I was a humiliation,
A wound to her.

She makes her humble moves
And brought starry serenity
But the night was mine,
Alone,
In the dark!

Those nights are still audible
With certain imagery,
Imagery befitting decors
On a royal boutique!
And voices exonerating her beauty,
There it proclaims my misfortune.

For I was blind,
A curse which invites a diffuse guilt
And a consumed sorrow!

This, however, is not to be complain,
Instead leave her to the Tormentors.
With an unequalled insight,
Listening how she moan
Amidst mercy-laden taunts…
There,
Warding-off outrage and shame,
Don’t ask me, How?
Yet my ambiguous sense,
A deeper sense of humiliation pervades
While her presence
Being odious to all
And I,
A defender,
A wounded defender!