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There’s suffering behind every set of lips.

Yet what is it to suffer, if our cries sing His melody,

And what is it to suffer, if scars thicken our skin.

There’s a tear behind every set of eyes.

Yet what is a tear, if it quenches the thirst of a wilting flower,

And what is a tear, if it forces our gaze on the earth whence we came.

There’s love in every believer’s heart.

Yet what is love, which whispers ‘me, myself and I’,

And what is love, seeping through liquid life.

Indeed, what are suffering, pain and love at all,

Without wisdom in the recipient to understand their worth.

He says, ‘Are lips not little but words,

A heart but a vessel of blood,

And our eyes nought but vision?’

Maybe so.

But a thousand pilgrimages later I’ve learnt,

It’s through our lips, we decorate life,

It’s in this tiny heart; we hold the grandeur of God,

And through our diminutive eyes, we behold the entire world.

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