Incoherent Coherent

IncoherentCoherent-IMG_6208.jpg

Incoherent Coherent

Artist prodigies live not long, it is said.

Mozart died young, as did Van Gogh.

Subversive Picasso broke old streak.

He lived thrice as long.

He served up human anatomy

in parts, helter-skelter

on a platter of canvass.

Incoherent seemed coherent.

He fed on marrow of beauties 

young enough to be daughters plus grand

whose curves he sliced, diced, cubed and cornered

at the altar of his mistress, Art.

Women killed themselves

for their god, cupid Picasso.

Nothing mattered to him.

Nothing, if it was not his art. 

Had he and I ever met, 

that genius he is to me,

I would gladly give my years

to afford him longevity;

not for love but for him

to create and create some more

that art of his, I so adore.

If I had, would I see his art again?!

charu

05072018