This World's A Piece Of Art Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Easy we see a chunk of rock stone dead,
A sculptor sees therein potential art—
A kind waiting to get liberated
From deep, well under layers part by part;
He alone would chisel it out to shape—
A figurine from his mind's fertile part,
The rest watch admiring, mouths wide agape,
He alone can chip off the needless dross,
Whilst lost are we looking no beyond gross,
Even in art we see no more than mart.

This world would be a pleasant breeze
If faults can we see blurring eyes—
Faults that can be chipped off with ease
O to see the beauty that lies.
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Reflections | 05.08.16 |