As I Sketch Her Down…

I see my strokes as I sketch it down,

The head of the angel who wears my nuptial crown.

Deep look at the lass, and eyes back on canvas down,

I draw the black eyed peas, in which I always drown.

Then comes the parrot nose, which smells the roses I give,

Which recognizes my scent, where only, my fragrances live.

I draw the little ears then which, I whispered the “three words” in,

Those three words straight into her heart, which let me step in.

And then I sketch the cheeks on which, whenever the tears roll over,

To sweep away the priceless fluid, my hands look to endeavor.

Then the fragile and moist red lips to follow,

Which are a source of spark when the voltage is mighty low!

On the art piece then, I encode her magnetic smile,

Sugary so sugary…eyes back on her for a while!

And then I rub the lead against, the greatest work I ever sketched,

To pour in the girl’s grace and shine, with my pencil’s leg, fully stretched.

At once I wake up realizing, with eyes wide open and my sweaty fist,

“It’s the poet dreaming wild, in the role of an artist!”

-By Farrukh Zafar