By Abhishek Kumar Singh
That face of hers, these eyes of mine
They make me fall for her every time
I wonder how could I watch her from near
Wanting to see more and more of her
When she looks back what could I ail
Whom could I talk of love
When you don't meet me often
I could say I am sick
Can you come lay beside me
But they say lies don't last very long
That innocence of hers how could it surpass that
Poetry reminds me of you sometimes
They say it's exaggeration
I feel it's imagination
Loving someone who isn't really there
That's whom I call my beloved
I paint her brows with the nib of my pen
Sketch her face with this Ink of mine
Even the dearest I loved the best never came
That's when she appeared to come out of her portrait
By Abhishek Kumar Singh
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