Sonnet 1

Sonnet 1
If the Seraph of heaven’s king
mired in every beauteous thing
glowed on cheeks or lest sigh
at the sight of my lovers eye
then mortals with blood and wine
through the opens of their valve
will efface by the count of nine
when they she touch with her love.
Come, sculptures from far and near
feel this skin of my maiden here.
Has there come to your thoughts
any finer texture of this sort?
Nay! nothing there’s in her likeness
the paradigm of beauty she is.
Copyright, 2018
Abdul Hakīm

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