By Priyanka D. Goel
Those cascading locks and time stood still
Those almond eyes, if they could kill
The heart yearns for the moment to freeze
But beauty transcends beyond these.
The hare lipped girl standing coy
Mirrors a story far from joy,
Those trembling hands entwined together
Her flightless body as light as feather.
Now sitting pretty on the floor
Her silence resounding behind closed doors,
The strokes begin to sway, like in a trance
Raptures the soul at a glance.
The bare canvas has found its muse
A harmony of colours beautifully suffused,
Flowing movements delicately draped
A beautiful vision starts taking shape.
She is the muse
That hair lipped girl,
She is the muse
Oh Vanity! All confused.