The Night When Poet Paints

Over the night of separation,
He draws her in poems,
A poem that still belongs to her.
With every stroke he remembers,
A reason he always has,
Her smile with dimples,
Deeper they get with blushes.
Eyes, though small she has,
How he has never looked before.
When she speaks, Her soft lips,
Make every Word worth listening.
Yet, he misses her,
Yet she is all his Nika.
A heart belongs to God
The night when Poet paints.
All he fumbles, but her beauty.

(Nika is a Russian Word/Name which means That Belongs to God)


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