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Striking Beauty

How could I describe you? ‎
Will it be easy to do! ‎
Should I dress in the cloth of sculptor? ‎
Hold my chisel and engrave a miniature? ‎
Should I pretend to be an artist to scribble
And manage to draw your picture? ‎
Sorry! ‎
I am not a sculptor, ‎
Neither an artist, nor a writer

Had God endowed me
‎ the gift of writing skills, ‎
I would have skilfully peeled out ‎
The shell of letters, ‎
and disseminated pearls ‎
Similar to what your lips contain, ‎
I would have molded the language, ‎
Spoken out the letters, ‎
Stirred the expressions, ‎
Stimulated the puns, ‎
and voiced you out a flesh and blood poem ‎
To escort me in my ups and downs, ‎
To recite you a sacred version
‎ Along my daily prayers! ‎

‎ I will try, in words, ‎
To return the good gesture, ‎
But obsessed by the fear of failure, ‎
Yes, a lot of motives have indeed ‎
Combined into one desire, ‎
The desire to have described you ‎
And live with you, in you, ‎

But, again, I am afraid ‎
Yes, afraid my ink will dry up! ‎
Dare I to count your countless graces: ‎

She is unrivalled in beauty, ‎
Her face as bright as the moon, ‎
Her teeth are glittering like snow, ‎
Her smile looks like the early morning dew, ‎
Her eye- brows, well-set, half - crescent, ‎
Her cheeks as pink as rose, ‎
Her pose defeats the priest's pose.‎

Black - haired ‎
Brown-skinned, ‎
Ball- like eyes
Behold! the arresting bosom ‎
‎Make not only me, ‎
But, by common consent, would say, ‎
She is the perfect piece of creation.‎
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
driven by the Satan of poetry
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