Art, No Milch Cow Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

What if Mona Lisa's treated like corn?
In multiple forms made and marketed?
From one of a kind and mysterious born,
What if it steals no heart nor turns keen head?
Imagine several shades of dull grey,
And classics that meander out of hands,
What if Sun never sets nor ends the day?
Bouquet that passes hands till blossom bends.

Nature's art's not a blueprint of all space,
Nor can be stretched on and on till it yawns,
Art ‘s not a self portrait devoid of grace,
There's no grace in wildly grown garden lawns.
No, you can't milk and market art to death,
The mysterious can't be mapped in one breath.
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Sonnets | 05.07.14 |
Poet's Note: This sonnet responds to a suggestion that an aficionado (and I am sure, a market buff) made some time back of popularizing old classic paintings by making their prints and marketing widely.