The Artist


As the clock 
Strikes
Twelve
The Drawings
He makes
All Come alive 

Unaware  he  sleeps
Comfortably  on  his
Cosy bed
While
They  all narrate
and dance
On  my  terrace

First, comes the
Green coloured
“Dancing  Cinderella”
Who teases and reveals
naughtily
“I am the  only  one
Whose naked body
Has felt  his 
fingers”

 Second,
“The old man”
Who claims
“As he drew my wrinkles
One  by  one
I became  more  weak
And blind
But then I
aged with him”

Third, enters
‘The  winking
Girl with  hijab’
Who
Winks  at  me
And  says
“I know  all  his  secrets”

I listen  to  their
Stories
One by  one
As they become
More  mesmerising
More  intriguing
And  wishing
If  only
Only if

“I was one of  his  Drawings!”

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