Never before was I to delight a suchlike chef d’oeuvre Its mere presence imposes a taciturn remaining on me
Myriads of galleries I have walked, indeed But which master could brandish a palette of equal birth ? A fragile colour scheme scattered upon the canvas Shapeless in its sublimity and meant to endure
An insidious urge embraces my psyche To haphazardly drown me in a spiral suction
Disgorged and spawned from the deviant The frame now resembles a coffin for the gist Impiously mounted in disgust With fever being the artistic medium
An apathic journey towards delirium: Indispensable knowledge to interpret this cryptichon
“ Dismal relique, Hideous parody of anthropoid contours, You are far too monotone in your expression ! So cease, obscure phoenix, cease to rise … ”
Morose, I scrutinize each and every feature And endeavour to focus beyond the blatant Still, deranged I am forced to give up To languidly regret all of those “whens” and “whys”
In a final writhing with pain I try to summon the significance of this allegory
Queer aftermath, confound me not !
On the spur of the moment I become aware That I peer at the ridiculous effigy of the painting’s creator I am left to discern in frantic turmoil That the draughtsman has worked his canvas in glass … !