Amann Aroraa (28 March 1993 / New Delhi)
The Gleam On Her Face [Sonnet}
The gleam on her face was so divine and rare.
I tried to escape, could not help but stare.
Assured of her substance, yet cautious,
Of presenting her best to her audience.
The thrill in her eyes and a subtle smile,
Token of her patent youth, charm and guile.
I am quite sure of her commanding bows.
From every one and at every place she goes.
But the naughty angel teased her admirers.
Disregarding their furnace of fires.
She paid no heed to their love and affection.
Too boastful of her beauty and attraction.
While most lose their gleam when life offers grey,
I pray yellow for you, [for] this blush must stay.
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