Poem

She is like a painting on the immaculate wall,
Not everyone can understand her beauty but those who do will never forget her.

She is the dream of an artist,
Payoff of her sleepless nights,
Only he know the meaning of her every shape and reason behind her every colour.

She is the pride of the painter,
Her outer beauty is what everyone sees and applaud,
But what’s inside is the painter’s prestige.

She is a prick in the eye of haters who paint her with black,
like it was never there.

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