Art Is 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,
That steals a wondrous heart and turns keen head.
Imagine several shades of dull grey,
Epics that go on, never showing ends,
A race ran in endless rounds of relay,
A bouquet that brags big till blossom bends.
Art’s art but if captured in compact space,
And least if stretched on and on till it yawns,
Nor if fattened in self-love, lacking grace,
Nor o’er-Indulged like wild-grown garden lawns;
Art’s no cow milked and marketed to death,
The mysterious is mapped not in one breath.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
In response to commercialisation and mass production of master
pieces like Mona Lisa.
- Sonnets | 06.07.14 |
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