Lady on the Canvas

 

When a painter paints his lady,

Even the colours seem ready

To sacrifice theirs and turn hers,

Vow, colours ebriated form a painted verse!

 

The brush too gyrates,

Softly, softly it narrates

His love tale,

Blossomed how a flower in a dale.

 

He, the love’s portrayer,

His soul immersed in a deep prayer,

Her features emerging,

Aha, love through his hands oozing!

 

Those eyes now ogle at him,

Deep, deep to the soul’s dim,

And his eyes at hers,

Goes on painting the verse!

 

When the love is fully faced,

Brush suddenly stopped and fingers braced

The pretty face eager for a praise,

Fallen sage got the colour erase.

 

The funny lady on the canvas,

Stared at him with extreme alas,

And furiously said,

Dear, have you gone mad!