Masquerade

The sun's rays,
Caressing her skin
Which basks in its golden light.
Her hair does find
A soft glow within,
In the glory of its divine might.

The rain drops
Kiss her silken tips
Along her finger's tender touch.
They trickle across
Her slender lips,
Moistened just as much.

When she smiles,
In a moment she says
What I wouldn't hear in years.
Yet I am no
Stranger to her ways,
For her smile hides her unshed tears.

By,
Nikhil Menon