Greatest Art Poem by Nikhil Parekh

The greatest art was not in clambering unsurpassably coldblooded mountains; with overwhelmingly poignant and adroit precision; barefoot,

The greatest art was not in stupendously encapsulating the beauty of the fathomless cosmos; in threadbare sheets of barren paper; singlehandedly,

The greatest art was not in racing swanky cars on avalanches of heartless ice; dexterously swerving an indefatigable number of times to degrees of extraordinarily beautiful precision; naked bodied,

The greatest art was not in flying umpteenth kites at a single time; celestially maneuvering countless strings of infinitesimal thread in gusty sky; towering
on the tip of your big toe,

The greatest art was not in erecting majestically palatial edifices in lightening seconds of time; inundating boundless kilometers of arid landscape with indomitable concrete jungles; in just a single breath,

The greatest art was not in astoundingly memorizing limitless jargons of patriotically blazing literature; tirelessly reciting them to the entire planet; in just a single
flash of an eye,

The greatest art was not in adventurously diving to the rock bottom of the truculently stormy ocean; sustain life amidst the satanic battalion of sharks and crabs beneath; for times immemorial,

The greatest art was not in impeccably prognosticating the destiny of one and all on this endless earth; astonishingly chronicling even the most minuscule of event to yet unfurl; in bleary eyed dawn,

The greatest art was not in eclectically controlling an unfathomable horde of rampant serpents; fearlessly entwining them all around your scarlet cheeks; without the
tiniest bead of sweat,

The greatest art was not in staring relentlessly at the profoundly blistering Sun; dazzling into a patriotic saga of Herculean bravery; handsomely unfettered,

The greatest art was not in emulating every conceivable voice on this enamoring Universe; with unconquerably marvelous artistry in the innermost chords of your throat; like supreme Omnipotence sweeping all evil,

The greatest art was not in grazing insurmountable flocks of innocuous sheep in a harmoniously single row; to the enigmatically magical movements of your nimble fingers; in blissfully unassailable unison,

The greatest art was not in weaving countless lines of gloriously imperial literature; fulminating even the most infidel ingredient of your blood; for the rhapsodically untamed ocean of your versatility,

The greatest art was not in devouring even the most sordidly acrimonious stones; digesting even the most hedonistically salacious of impediments; without a single burp,

The greatest art was not in inhaling every speck of exhilarating breeze on this invincible globe; inundating the cushion of your lungs with enchanting sensuousness; for infinite more births yet to unravel,

The greatest art was not in brilliantly standing first at every cranny of existence; Omnipresently solemnizing your diminutive countenance as the very best; till centuries even beyond your veritable time,

The greatest art was not in flamboyantly embellishing your dreary countenance with the most exquisitely fantastic satin on this planet; diffusing into a wave of indefatigably priceless color on every step that you intricately tread,

The greatest art was not in infectiously triggering everyone around you into whirlpools of insatiably hilarious laughter; metamorphosing every globule of
sullenness into an impregnable mountain of humanitarian smiles,

For as long as this exotically fructifying earth has existed; as long as God has chosen organism to diffuse into an unendingly exuberant sea of tangy breath; as long as symbiotically immortal love has blossomed in every holistic heart; the greatest art has always been and will forever be; leading each moment of survival to the absolute fullest; wholeheartedly accepting every shade of inexplicably fabulous life; just as it
unabashedly comes.